daisies bloom over yonder meadow
by XxZuiliu
Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]
1. 01: sun-glitter

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Title: daisies bloom over yonder meadow

Rating: **T**. Will definitely be increasing to **M** in the future, though, so this is just an early heads-up here for that. Don't say I didn't warn you when disturbing things come up. Eventually.

Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

(AN at the bottom.)

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* * *

 **daisies bloom over yonder meadow**

 _01: "sun-glitter"_

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First and foremost, I want you to remember this:

Always, always keep in mind that no matter how terrifying it appears to be, no matter how impossible it seems to overturn, no matter how dire the situation you happen to find yourself ensnared by, in the end a genjutsu is just that –an illusion. An illusion, meaning that it is only fake and immaterial at the heart of things, despite whatever reality-warping power it holds, no matter the level of subtle details or vivid sensations painstakingly crafted into the art.

And while it is true that the core of genjutsu lies in deception, not everything about genjutsu is a lie –not necessarily, at least. But that's a little besides the point right now; I'll touch back on this later.

So, genjutsu.

Illusion.

It's the tricky little technique of imposing one reality onto another, of shattering reality into a thousand minuscule shards of illusion, of rendering illusion such that it becomes naught but the blood-soaked hell we call reality. Insanity and madness, sanity and clarity, the fine line separating one extreme from the other –don't think I don't hear the whispers; I _do,_ even if I don't pay them much mind most of the time. No, I don't really take offense at it. Why would I? The worries aren't entirely unfounded.

… Thing is, they're just coming in a bit too late to be of any use, to actually make any difference to me anymore.

Because–

Because _insanity_ is something that had crept into my world a long, long time ago; insanity is something that had firmly entrenched itself into the recesses of my mind under the thin cover of perfectly lucid sanity, far before I had even began to become truly aware of what genjutsu _means_.

But this is all neither here nor there; let us continue along with our previous line of conversation.

So –illusions.

Genjutsu.

People have the tendency to overcomplicate it, I think. And despite how it's indeed quite true that the devil is in the details, getting as lost in the details as most people do isn't much of a help towards advancing in the deceptive arts, either. It's silly. People focus on the silliest things to worry their pretty little heads over. They start obsessing over how to perfectly construe a level of description that isn't too vague and isn't too overkill, how to precisely convince a target to fall into a trap unthinkingly, how to make others dance in the palm of their hand without them being any the wiser.

There's really no need for all that, because when you stop and think about it, the answer is simple. You're clever enough to know what I'm talking about, right?

As with most techniques, the more you overly complicate it, the harder and more wasteful the result of your efforts is. Think of ninjutsu –it takes six standard hand seals to spit out the classical Uchiha _goukakyuu_ technique, but skilled users of the particular jutsu in question can easily shorten it to three or four seals with enough practice, enough familiarity, enough _control_.

Genjutsu is much the same.

For a moment, please just close your eyes and forget about everything everyone says about paying attention to details, to construe reality into the illusion to make your illusion into another reality. Yes, of course noting the details is important the way basic building blocks are, but that's not the point here. Yes, of course creativity is just the icing on top, but it's not _necessary_ –

… Sorry, I'm starting to digress again. Back to the basics, then.

Forget about details.

Forget about precision.

Forget about calculation.

 _Forget._

And think.

…

To catch another person in an illusion –is essentially to superimpose their reality with one of your own making. The human mind naturally resists that, instinctively rebels against this foreign intrusion that wreaks havoc upon their own perceptions. That's why there are a hundred and one different tips and tricks for catching targets off-guard or unbalanced enough mentally so that they become more susceptible to falling under the influence of genjutsu. Most of these techniques focus on lowering another person's guard to increase the effectiveness of genjutsu, which is why many deem genjutsu much too impractical to be of widespread popular use the way physical attacks of ninjutsu and taijutsu are, too much effort to be worth the trouble.

I agree with that assessment. It's a crude and stupid method to use.

Because basically, what most people are doing when they cast a genjutsu on another person is forcibly twisting them to accept the illusion they've created. To forcibly accept an illusion as reality, and it's… clumsy. It's so very, very clumsy. _This_ is why people need to go to an almost obsessive level of including enough details as much as possible to lower suspicions from the target of the illusion from realizing anything _wrong_.

Clumsy, see? Clumsy and inefficient.

Let me tell you a secret: If you want to catch a person in an illusion, the easiest way to go about doing so isn't creating a genjutsu, then bull-headedly shoving it into their face and telling them to accept it. _It's creating a genjutsu that their mind will already accept._ You should craft an illusion that they themselves will accept as reality on their own terms, rather than being forced into to accepting by crude other means.

Convince them. Convince them that they _want_ the illusion, instead of forcing it upon them.

For example; a simple depth perception genjutsu, one that offsets your position in the enemy's eyes. Yes, you can easily trap them with the technique by throwing the illusion into their face with all the grace of a dying drunkard. But which illusion do you think will be more effective, harder to throw off, deeper-rooted –the one in which a charging enemy suddenly appears to be charging from another direction, or one in which you don't _know_ where your enemy is coming from in the first place, and are consistently keeping out a wary eye? In the latter case, if someone is seeking out any and all signs of nearby human presence with their senses, _actively seeking out these signs…_ then give them the signs they're looking for.

It just might not be the _correct_ signs.

… Heh.

Y'see? In a way, crafting illusions, casting illusions, picking apart illusions and putting them back together –it all boils down to intent, I think. In my experience, intent makes all the difference in crafting an illusion.

What is an illusion?

A flash of color, background scenery; blood on steel, ink on paper. An illusion is anything and everything that can be perceived by the human mind and twisted into something entirely _different_ yet still the _same_.

It is reality.

… In that respect, life itself is very much like a genjutsu, wouldn't you agree?

 _Fate, destiny, the preordained._

 _Choice, decisions, the fickleness of man._

Reality and illusion are actually very intimately intertwined with each other, for all that they are supposedly opposites by definition alone. But for the sake of simplicity and to save us both the headache of this endless argument, this ongoing debate, we will just leave this issue here at that. It's not exactly what I want to address with you, although it does provide good context that you would do well to keep in mind.

As a practitioner of one of the trickiest, wiliest ways of a ninja –I have very seldom been asked to explain myself or my motives to anyone. I think it's probably because of this natural way of thinking most people have, this thought of _of course_ so-and-so is eccentric or strange, _of course_ so-and-so's actions are hard to comprehend, because _genjutsu._ Genjutsu.

Genjutsu has saved me multiple times, but for all the moments I have been saved by it, I have also been destroyed many more times over. It all has to do with the mind, if you ask me –something about the distortion of the mind that walks hand in hand with the art of illusions.

But I'm getting off-track again here.

I think… maybe it's because I have never really had to explain myself to anyone before like this that I'm having so much trouble formulating my words here, to lay out all my cards on the table. It's a strange feeling. To be honest, I'm not quite sure how to even go about this, because it's all just one giant convoluted mess that I have no real desire to untangle in the first place… but I really should get around to doing so, and that's probably the only reason why you're still listening to me right now.

…

… I've heard that the beginning is a good place to start, so let's start at the beginning, shall we?

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* * *

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It starts with _fire,_ and I have little doubt that everything will end in flames, too, a blazing inferno tearing down the world to clear a path for creation _._

… But for the sake of accuracy, I will clarify that even though I say fire and do really mean fire, the hazy impression imprinted within my mind is something more along the lines of _smoke._

Fire is life and death, creation and destruction wrapped into one blazing inferno. What can you say for smoke?

So, bluntly speaking, I do not know when I was born exactly, nor precisely where I was born; only that in all likelihood this particular event took place sometime, somewhere within the walls of Konoha. For all that I have always possessed sharper intelligence, a stronger awareness than the vast majority of my peers, this trait does not extend to early infancy years, and it would be ludicrous to expect it to.

If I am to be perfectly honest, the earliest thing I remember in my memories is the scent of smoke, and so that is where I will begin:

Smoke.

Not the thick, acrid smoke of burning flames that blaze with the rage of devouring anything and everything unfortunate enough to be the target of its ire. Not the nauseous, rough-ash texture smoke that comes with burning pipe leaves to wind down from a stressful, strenuous day.

It's a light smoke, with a sort of strange scent that isn't entirely pleasant, but not exactly unpleasant by any stretch of the word, either. The lack of floral edge to it pins it down as some type of wood, most likely, but that is only a conclusion that I can draw in retrospect when I look back on things now.

Incense; it is the scent of incense.

The earliest memory than I can recall with any sort of clarity is my mother's funeral.

It is… a lot less impactful than one would think. For one, I don't exactly _remember_ anything about her. Nothing, nothing, _nothing_. One cannot miss what they never had a chance to know, but if what I have heard later on about her held any semblance of the truth, perhaps it is for the best that she passed as early as she did –that woman had truly been a walking tragedy. A disastrous skirmish on the front lines during the Second War had resulted in a severe fracture in her mind, an unhealthy dose of insanity that would come to ruin the rest of her life with the madness-induced actions she had eventually descended to. Perhaps bearing a child out of wedlock as she had might not have been as bad if she been a simple, clanless Chuunin Corps kunoichi, or perhaps even the daughter of a minor, sidelined clan–

But no.

The Noble Clans are much less unforgiving of such infractions, of such scandalous impropriety, much less the Noble Uchiha Clan, one of the Founding Clans and pillars of Konoha.

… Of course, these are all details that I managed to dig up about the situation later on, after I had proved myself somewhat skilled and not entirely useless to the clan. Back then, the funeral had hardly meant anything to me at the time, if I recall correctly. Maybe some would call this distinct lack of reaction _callous,_ others _heartless,_ but what does that matter?

I lived with Grandfather after that. _Ojii-san._

Life with ojii-san is what I remember about the majority of my childhood days. It is also what started me on my path in genjutsu; ojii-san had been one of the leading experts within the clan on this art. Under his tutelage, I began breaking my mind apart and putting it back together, again and again and again. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but reflecting upon this again, isn't it strange that someone as important as he would devote so much time to raising a bastard granddaughter? Isn't it strange, for such a traditional man to be so patient and instructive to a child with no true legitimacy to call her own?

Personally, I think it's guilt.

Guilt over the incident that had occurred with his daughter, which then led to his attempt to make up for it somehow by raising me as best as he could, to atone for–

…

… Whereas I feel nothing for the dear okaa-san whom I never had a chance to know, ojii-san is another matter entirely, even if he took responsibility for me more of guilt than any true familial feelings. It did not occur to me for the longest time to question why I was kept indoors more often than not, why I seldom had the chance to interact with other children my age –ojii-san always had training exercises lined up one after another to keep my attentions preoccupied, and I had never been overly interested in seeking out children to make friends with in the first place. It's a sentiment that can be easily understood, I think –while I have never considered myself a _prodigy_ the way others have seen fit to title me with, it is undisputed fact that child prodigies, often prone to being more mature and perceptive than their peers even from a young age, have a hard time relating to them.

I will not deny being mature and perceptive.

The incident with Kana-chan and the lizards did not exactly enthuse me to the idea of playing with my age-mates, either, much less encourage me to start putting in the effort of trying to change my then-current status as a social pariah within the clan.

Now, I'm sure you've heard of this saying before: 'Birds of a feather flock together.' Yet it was not out of shared loneliness that Obito and I gravitated towards each other, finding solace in being oddities, outcasts together. But… there is some degree of truth to the saying. Even if it does not appear as such on the surface, the two of us are much more alike than what most people give us credit for, even all the way back in our early childhood when they simply turned and looked at us standing next to each other –a bright, boisterous young boy adamantly trying to coax this recalcitrant recluse of a little girl out to play under the sun.

They're blind.

How can they fail to see it, the same cursed blood that runs in our veins?

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* * *

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Obito and I… well. Our relationship is complicated, to say the least. In some ways, it is a blessing that our paths have crossed with each other in this life, but it's as much a blessing as it is a curse as well, and sometimes I oh so very bitterly _regret_. But before things took a turn for the worse in later years they were good, as good as good can be for children training to be professional killers in a village that encourages murder.

There is a pivotal point, a distinct, marked moment for when things all started spiraling downhill, but that is not the beginning, not quite yet.

The beginning here is:

Fire.

Smoke.

Living in a secluded edge of the Uchiha district with ojii-san.

And then it isn't, because one day, one day a little boy comes. One day, a little boy comes crashing into this peaceful, stagnant scene, all buoyant smiles and bright cheer, abruptly breaking the stillness and solace of the quiet air with all the grace and subtlety of a stumbling elephant. No one ever used to come around to where I lived with ojii-san –a sort of unspoken, unofficial boundary that everyone stayed away from, that everyone avoided. Not consciously, not deliberately, not maliciously, but it was unmistakable avoidance all the same.

Except him.

Except for young little Uchiha Obito, brash and bull-headed and clumsy the way an endearing puppy always ends up tangling underfoot, directed away by other children into proving himself brave enough to be part of their circle by entering the 'forbidden grounds' that everyone avoids. And Obito, with all the wisdom of a five year-old child, ran headlong into this without so much as a by your leave.

This is the beginning: A little boy holds out his hand to a bewildered young cousin and asks her to play with him. The friendship that his actions kindle flickers, blooms, _blazes_ with the intensity of a thousand suns–

And there is no other way this tale will end but in fire. You'll see.

But for now, we're missing another character in this idyllic image, and he doesn't come along until much, much later –forever and _ever_ in the eyes of children, a single year to the minds of adults, the blink of an eye hidden in eternity to the perspective of a fractured mind broken beyond repair.

He is–

"Such an _asshole!_ Madoka-chan, can you believe that arrogant nerve of his? Acting all high and mighty just because he can– Hatake Kakashi, I swear I will defeat you one day, or my name isn't Uchiha Obito!"

Puffed out cheeks, red face, a scowl that is no longer an impetuous, impish pout. I still remember that look on his face, and the urge to repress a small smile from creeping over my lips. Obito had never been capable of giving stellar performance during clan training from what I know, but it wasn't until entering the academy and ranking at the bottom of the class that people truly started giving him the cold shoulder. Yet he never gave up, always kept on striving to better himself –because he had a goal, and that goal was to beat the top student of the class, Hatake Kakashi.

Easier said than done, of course, and that goal was one he never quite managed to accomplish during our academy days. Because Kakashi, genius that he is, graduated within the year, and Obito was left without his greatest rival… even if it happened to be an extremely one-sided rivalry that was viewed more as a joke by most people than true rivalry.

Deep breaths, forcibly calming himself down. Then turning and smiling at the quiet little cousin a year below him in the academy, and asking her how her day went. And maybe she'd be interested in painting mean old Sayu-obaa-san's house _hot pink_ sometime later this week?

Even cranky old ladies still have a good set of lungs on them when they're surprised, I'll tell you that.

… The expression on Obito's face when we were forced to clean up the mess and he found out that I did my part of the job not with actual paint but by applying genjutsu instead was _priceless._

Maybe it's due to ojii-san's influence, but I've always had a knack for genjutsu. Always.

"You're _mean,_ Madoka-chan."

"Thank you for the compliment."

"…"

Ah, those were the happy days, innocent and carefree even if it didn't entirely seem so at the time. But I digress; golden days never last as long as people like, because there is no eternity in reality even if reality is its own sort of eternity wrought upon the sun and stars.

I mentioned a catalyst earlier. A turning point, when everything started to become undone. Not entirely, because there is still hope, and we can still _fix things,_ but… this is how it starts, this is how things start _falling apart._

Spring.

A new year, ash-pale cherry blossoms fluttering softly in the light wind, gentler than the trembling breath of a young maiden's sigh. Dewey blades of grass recovering from sickly yellow into vibrant green again, the bright verdant shade that is overlooked and taken for granted any time, all the time. There had been a few clouds in the sky that day, white and puffy and cheerful and, in hindsight, _utterly ironic,_ because the sky is the typical blue sky of a crisp spring day and _spring_ implies _hope_ and _happiness_ and _life._

Utterly ironic, I say. It's utterly ironic, because it is on a day like this that our tragedy begins, and this is the critical point, the crucial point, the turning point, _lynchpin,_ even if not necessarily the entire reason why–

This is her name: Nohara Rin.

Uchiha Obito meets Nohara Rin on a clear spring day when the cherry blossoms are in bloom, and this is the beginning of a tale that can and will only ever have one ending, even if all of us had been blissfully ignorant and pitifully oblivious at the time of what the future held in store for us all.

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(It starts with flames, and so it will end in fire, too. Only from the ashes of destruction can something new, something good be born, particularly in lieu of the fact that there is no turning back anymore.

There is no more turning back.)

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…

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Author's Notes:

… Aaaaand after another impromptu hiatus, I'm back with a new story, more fooling around with the writing here. I think I'm starting to see a pattern in my writing process here…

(Cough) Anyways.

Welcome to daisies, everyone! This should be a fairly short story, I think. Hopefully the first chapter was somewhat enjoyable if you've managed to bear through with the writing to this point. The rampage of several plot bunnies + urge to relieve college stress + feeling guilty over lack of updates = daisies. Voila. Haven't mucked around in the Naruto fandom for awhile, so this should be fun.

… And messy. Can't forget the messy.

Several experimental elements are included in the writing as already mentioned above, so feedback on what you liked or what could use some improvement would be very helpful and very much appreciated.

Please don't take this as a blanket invitation to start needling me about every little discrepancy in the timeline, though; I _know_ there are going to be discrepancies in the timeline. For example: Kakashi graduates with Obito and Rin (apparently) in the manga, but he also becomes a genin at five and chuunin at six, then gets Obito and Rin as teammates when he's already been training with Minato, and they're still all the same age?

So… I'll be putting things my way, and apologies if I offend anyone's delicate sensitivities if I don't stick religiously to the details of the manga timeline, whatever they happen to be. In my version of events, Obito and Rin and the others all enter the Academy at age six, and Kakashi enters with them a year younger, but graduates ahead of all of them. Since apparently he's a genin at five.

…

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 **QUESTION:** On a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being 'wtf did I just read' and 10 being 'love it,' how confusing or engaging did you find this narrative style, and what would you like to see more of in later chapters? Because later chapters should be getting better, I think. Maybe.

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Not quite sure when I'll be getting around to updating my other stories or even when I'll be able to update this one next, only that nothing is going to be getting abandoned anytime soon. Worst case scenario, all hopes will be pinned on summer break. Kind of in the mood to be working on the next chapter of my Tokyo Ghoul fic, but I don't think I have the time for that. (Flips table with a wail of despair.)

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


	2. 02: counterclockwise

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Title: daisies bloom over yonder meadow

Rating: Temporary T.

Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

(AN at the bottom.)

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 **daisies bloom over yonder meadow**

 _02: "counterclockwise"_

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"Come here, Madoka-chan."

Ojii-san rarely smiles. There is always this serious mien that is perpetually draped about his shoulders, something dark and heavy and solemn that had and has never quite deigned to lift its crushing weight from his back –both in the distant past and throughout the remainder of his dwindling life.

(Nonetheless, this has no bearing on his strength. Even as his body withered with the passing of the years, the fiery strength that burned in the core of his being never quite left his blood.)

"You need to understand, Madoka-chan," ojii-san says, eyes dark and voice low. "You need to understand. I can teach you the shinobi arts, I can teach you how to protect yourself from others who wish you harm, those who wish you ill –but I cannot protect you from everything; I cannot protect you from yourself if your heart is weak. That is something I cannot do."

Ojii-san often speaks in riddles, forward and backward and backward and forward, but it is just as well. It suits him, master of genjutsu that he is, and I am intelligent enough to hear the true words wrapped within–

"Hai, ojii-san," is my only response, quiet and demure and every bit the picturesque obedient child. Because it is expected of me, and because I find no reason not to. "I understand."

But I didn't at the time, not really.

Out of everyone in the clan –ojii-san was the only one who had seen _something_ about Obito even that far back. I like to think of it as a sixth sense of sorts, this not-quite-clairvoyant sense for the future; maybe it has something to do with the numerous possibilities, probabilities reflected off the shattered mirror-shards of a broken mind.

(If it is demons that you seek, then it is demons that will gather around you, ghastly and grinning with bloody-fanged smiles as they twine over your shoulders and delicately, lovingly choke you to death.

… Or something like that, at least.)

"I don't think your ojii-san likes me," Obito had confided in me once, when we were crouched down by the riverbanks eating dried persimmons –freshly filched from a neighboring aunt's porch, and all the sweeter for it. Flecks of powder-white sugar flaked off my fingertips and into the muddy grass, but my attention had been more focused on the gesticulations of the older boy than anything else at the time, in this rare moment of perceptiveness from him.

"Ojii-san doesn't like anyone," I'd replied to his comment at the time. Maybe not in those exact words, but something along those lines in a similar vein. But… it wasn't true, not exactly, even if it certainly seemed so in a cursory look. Because, see–

Ojii-san loves the clan.

 _Ojii-san loves the clan._

More than anything else, more than his children, his village, his very own life –ojii-san values the clan above all of that, so close does he hold it to his heart, to his soul, to the core of his very being. It's not something I had understood upon discovering the fact, nor was it ever something that ever became clear to me thereafter. Clever and intelligent I may be, but something as unfathomable as the abstract _love_ for an entire faceless _clan_ is beyond me. Wholly beyond me. Totally, wholly, entirely beyond me.

Ojii-san had known about this, I think, even if he never directly said anything about it to me nor confronted me about it. But I like to think that he understood how I felt.

That might be why he tried to kill me right after graduation.

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* * *

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(But see, for all that ojii-san loves, loves, _loves_ this clan like nothing else, he also loves his little granddaughter. Even if it's not to the same extent, not on the same scale, only a mere shadow compared to the vast love he harbors for his beloved clan–

This tiny little sliver of insignificant, fleeting love is the only reason why I survived. It's the only plausible explanation.

… I couldn't understand it.)

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* * *

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Late spring. Budding leaves on thin branches, silver-light wind whistling through the air.

Graduation.

For most children, graduation is a jubilant time of happiness and pride –for those who graduate, that is, because they can run to their parents and siblings and loved ones and show them the metal forehead protector emblazoned with the insignia of the Leaf. There is a fierce pride that rises in their chests at having lived up to their expectations, of being recognized as a true ninja, of taking the first steps on their path to greatness. They will rise and they will become strong; they will become fighters and protectors and no one will ever dare touch what is _theirs._ They will serve and defend the village loyally, as its newest generation of most stalwart defenders.

Of course, there are always also exceptions to the norm.

When I am handed my _hitai-ite_ with a smile by the kindly proctor of the test, when the career chuunin who is satisfied with his lot in life says _Good work on passing, Madoka-chan,_ there is a curious lack of… well, anything at _all_ in my chest. There is no happiness. No pride. No excitement. All I remember is the dull acknowledgment of _Oh, I passed._ It's the same feeling that comes when I look in the kitchen sink and see _Oh, there are more dishes to wash._ Just another small tick mark on a meaningless checklist, and for a moment, I am so _frustrated_.

This is not how things are supposed to be.

 _This is not how things are supposed to be._

I know how this is supposed to go. I'm supposed to be happy. _Happy._ It's supposed to be this burst of wild excitement that lightens my feet and carries me into the air with delighted laughter. It's supposed to be the mark of a good achievement, something to be proud of. It's not supposed to be _nothing,_ and it's… very disappointing, this reality I find myself faced with.

… Truth be told, perhaps it's all Obito's fault. He himself had experienced that unadulterated joy when he passed and became a Genin, and what he had recounted of the feelings to me –it planted an insidious seed in my mind. _If you graduate, you will be happy. Everyone will be happy for you, and you yourself will be happy._

Disappointment is always stronger if you've been expecting something _great_ beforehand; nay, if you _desire_ and _hope_ and–

And in the end, nothing really matters, so I carefully tuck my disappointment away and begin heading back to the Uchiha district.

Nothing matters.

It's just a test.

I passed.

(In retrospect, I can see it. Just as there were few things that truly inspired any true reaction from me, there were also few things that I wanted for. This life as a ninja is something I can be content with, but I easily could've been just as content as a nameless Uchiha baker or seamstress.

In the end, it's only the little things that matter.)

Apathy, you say? Well… yes, it's something like that, I suppose. Apathy, and an inability to understand the thoughts and feelings of others around me –along with the sheer lack of desire to do so most of the time. But let's not get too ahead of ourselves at the moment.

So, walking back on the familiar dirt roads to the Uchiha district on a mild spring day, freshly-graduated and not really feeling much of anything at all besides a sharp disappointment that throbs and fades into nothingness within a few short moments. There is nothing of note that occurs on this walk –loud, crowded, busy streets thin out into smaller ones into silent ones, and then it's the Uchiha district. A few children's voices carried on the wind in the not-so-far distance, the crackling of flames from a nearby Uchiha-run restaurant.

Streets become muddy. Become grass. Become a secluded corner of the district.

Home.

For some, friends are home. For some, blood-family is home. For some, the Clan is home.

(… And for some, _Konoha_ is home. But you would know all about that, wouldn't you?)

From what I've gathered over the years, home is: Safety, warmth. The place one returns to when they are vulnerable and desire somewhere to blot out the rest of the entire world, the place where there are loved ones they cherish and trust and are cherished and trusted by in return. A place of joy, laughter; a small splotch of light in the darkness we thrive in.

I think… a long time ago, ojii-san was my home. He was my home, once. And then he wasn't, because he was gone. A home is someplace, someone, to return to. Where ojii-san has gone is not somewhere I am eager to return to anytime soon; and so he is not my home. Not home. Not anymore.

Home is an anchor. It keeps us grounded and tethered.

Think on that.

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* * *

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('Do I love ojii-san?' Is that what you're asking me?

Crimson-blooming flowers and timeless circles and an unending cycle of madness. Love, love, love? Flowers blossom madly in rivulets of blood and the rivers run red with those countless thousands upon thousands of blooms, and the entire world drowns. Seven days and seven nights, before the sky shatters.

I love him.

Ojii-san is the one who raised me, for all intents and purposes. Of course I love him. I love the way his gnarled fingers run through my hair, the way I sit at his feet when he takes me to explore the depths of the human mind, the times when he shows me how the pinwheel-flowers bloom in blood. _Madoka._ Ojii-san is the one who named me. Ojii-san is the one who took care of me. Ojii-san is the one who warned me, even if I did not pay heed to his words at the time, foolish as I was.

(Foolish as I still am.)

I love ojii-san; of course I love ojii-san. How can I not?

I loved ojii-san in life, and now I love him even better in death. Does this answer your question?)

.

* * *

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"What do you think?"

There is the light tremor of hope in Obito's voice as he directs the question at me. His hands are not gesturing around wildly as they are prone to doing; being laden down with grocery bags tends to come along with the little side effect of preoccupying your arms. Of course, that doesn't stop him from _radiating_ the sort of energetic cheer that children are wont to drape over themselves, and Obito wears it better than most. Even burdened as he is by groceries, arms straining against the heavy weights pulling him down, the buoyant air around him is ever-light.

"Rin-san is nice to everyone, Obito. You shouldn't look too much into it," is the response I give him. It's not the one he's looking for, but it's the truth. For a mind twisted by lies and shattered by deceit, truth is all I know. "She has a crush on your other teammate, doesn't she? Hatake-san?"

"Pah! That _teme_ isn't interested in anything but training, training, training! He's such an arrogant _prick,_ Madoka-chan!"

As always, the mention of his other male teammate sends Obito off into a frenzied rant about the ills of Hatake's holier-than-thou ways. How Hatake looks down on him, demeans him, treats him as a joke. The animosity isn't quite as bad as it had been in the initial formation of the team, when Obito and Rin had joined Hatake under the tutelage of Namikaze Minato, but it is still present under the thin veneer of rivalry, from what little I've gathered. Of course I could be wrong, though. Maybe things are really fine, and 'tough love' is the motto of this team. Unusual, but not impossible.

Yet, I had learned how to read people at ojii-san's knees, and when it comes to Obito who I know so well –I do not think I am mistaken here.

"Enough about me, though," Obito switches tracks, shaking his head and offering me a small smile, hiding the frustration he feels with the dynamics of his team. "How's your team doing?"

"Well enough," I acquiesce to the change in topic, though there is not much for me to offer on my end of the conversation.

The tradition of putting new graduates into genin teams under a jounin in Konoha is viewed as more than the creation of a unit; it is the creation of a family. Of course there are bumps and scuffles, but the bonds forged between genin teammates is something _special;_ it is something unique, something _more,_ than what being assigned to teams specifically geared towards certain missions is like. Admittedly, even with the disappointment in the lack of _anything_ I had felt towards graduating –maybe, maybe genin team placements would be different. At least, that was what I'd believed at the time, and that is what I once hoped for.

Here's a bit of advice:

Hope is fine. Hope is good. Just, when you're hoping –make sure that you also brace yourself for disappointment.

They were not bad people, Hiruko and Misaki. Two boys, childhood friends, one of the Nara and another a talented second-generation shinobi of a civilian background. Please don't misunderstand me when I'm saying this; they were good people. Hiruko had the usual slouch and lazy drawl that was stereotypical of the Nara Clan and a razor-sharp mind to match, while Misaki was more soft-spoken with a core of steel hidden underneath that gentle demeanor. We had our rough bumps with each other in the beginning, but we grew to become a good team. We were a good team, and Yuuma-sensei was a good teacher to us.

We just weren't family.

… Or if we were, I must be the only one who didn't get that memo. Because when we sit down in an Akimichi restaurant to celebrate the success of our first C-rank mission, when Hiruko gives that lopsided grin and Misaki smiles brightly and there is something warm and _fond_ in Yuuma-sensei's eyes as he looks at us… I cannot feel it. _I cannot feel it._ Even though I follow their motions and quirk up the edges of my lips in a socially-expected indication of happiness, even though I shift my body language to convey excitement in order to seem pleased, _there is no warmth in my chest._

I know I love ojii-san. When I rest my head on ojii-san's knees as he whispers the secrets of scarlet-blooming flowers and the madness of human minds to me, there is a warmth in the center of my being that is almost a drug, that makes me _want,_ makes me _crave_ for this moment to continue forever and ever and ever. To be with ojii-san and feel the happiness I do in that moment for all of eternity.

I know I love Obito. Maybe not immediately at the moment of our first meeting, but this love is a sort of love that _grows._ It's subtle and slow and almost unnoticeable, but one day when you're walking behind him and he turns around with the brightest smile and grabs your hands, drags you to sneak more persimmons off the back porch, and in that moment you realize something. You realize that there's something warm and giddy and _bright_ that lights up inside you whenever you're around him, and you realize that this is love.

So I know for a fact that I am not entirely without feeling; contrary to what others might say of me nowadays, I _do_ feel. I feel most keenly. But the way I feel appears to be different from that of how others feel, and in some ways on some days, feeling is so _hard._

Hiruko and Misaki and Yuuma-sensei. I do _like_ them. Yuuma-sensei's teachings are instructive, if different from ojii-san's ways, and Hiruko and Misaki are good teammates. We get along well. We work together effectively. We make a good team. There should be nothing for me to complain about in such a situation, but there _is._

I don't understand why, I cannot even begin to comprehend why… but I cannot seem to love them as anything more than people whom I am familiar with and interact with on a constant basis. They feel like _acquaintances_ and not _family_ and in some ways it's almost sad, because I cannot love them the same way I am loved by them, and surely loving, if it's loving them, would be a very wonderful thing.

… Ahh, who am I kidding?

I still remember it, y'know. How this seemingly-perfect team broke apart. It started with a trip to Suna, guarding a caravan, C-rank with a few other genin teams from our year. A mission to familiarize ourselves with others of our generation so we would grow comfortable with each other and build a sense of camaraderie. And it was due to a bit of misinformation about the enemy we faced that things went wrong; instead of typical bandits, it was an organization of missing-nin whom we faced.

Hiruko died in midst of the chaos. He died saving Misaki. I had been clear on the other side of the field assisting another team, as that was where I had been when the ambush was sprung on us. Yuuma-sensei had been held up by the higher-ranked missing-nin in the fray with the other jounin-sensei.

It's a very typical story. Things like this happen a lot. A genin teammate sacrifices himself to save another, and so the remainders of the team must pick themselves up again in wake of his death and move on.

And so we moved on.

And yes I was sad, yes I was mourning for my recently-deceased teammate, yes I comforted Misaki with empty words like _It's okay_ and _Not your fault,_ but I was also never more _pleased_ by the fact that I didn't love Hiruko. I am not ashamed of admitting that, because it is the truth.

When Obito found out about the mission and _sprinted_ to where I now lived alone in ojii-san's house, the first thing he did upon bursting into the room and spotting me was to _seize_ me in a hug and start breathlessly whispering _Are you alright oh gods that must've been frightening I'm so glad you're still here so sorry for your loss so happy you're alive–_

It's completely inappropriate, but I smile. Obito does not see the happy expression, and I do not enlighten him about my thoughts. There is no need to.

.

* * *

.

Misaki abandons the shinobi career, which comes as a surprise to me, knowing his never-give-up character. Prior to the disaster of a C-rank to Suna, that is. Yuuma-sensei decides to make a go for ANBU. The latter fact isn't so surprising.

"Your physical abilities are below average, but your genjutsu is really something special. Good chakra control, too," is what Yuuma-sensei says to me in our last official team meeting. "I would advise finding a genjutsu specialist to apprentice under, or you could also give medical jutsu a go. Keep in touch with Misaki, alright? Even though he's not officially part of Konoha's shinobi forces anymore, he's still your teammate. He needs you more than you know."

It's true, but also untrue. Misaki doesn't need someone who can pretend to sympathize; he needs someone who can truly empathize, and that someone is Yuuma. Not me. Yuuma would understand his suffering. I can only mimic the behavior of others, because I don't feel for Hiruko's death the way a teammate ought to.

Coward.

"Are you sure, sensei?" I ask, because he's not dumb, he knows what I mean. But all he responds with is a weak smile, the smile of a broken man –a man who has lost friends and lost teammates and lost family, and has now lost his student as well. He's a bit of a lost man, Yuuma-sensei, but for someone like him, maybe he can find himself in ANBU again.

Misaki, though. I wonder how Misaki will find himself again?

.

* * *

.

In the panicked heat of the Suna missing-nin skirmish, our team was not the only one that experienced loss. Some teams broke apart just as ours did, others re-forged themselves from the broken pieces left behind and became all the stronger for it. But I digress; the only true impact that this event had on me was that I took the Chuunin Exams with a new team that had found themselves one member too short for the tests, and that was that.

"Knew you'd pass, Madoka-chan!" Obito cheers when I return to ojii-san's empty house, after the exams have finally come to a close. "Just you wait. You might be ahead of me for now, but you bet I'll catch up soon!"

"Okay," I smile, because I rather like the idea of walking beside Obito. So I don't say anything like _You'd better hurry_ or _I'll be waiting for you,_ because that's not what I mean. What comes from me instead is a simple, "Let's do our best together, then."

Because we are not invincible or infallible or immortal; doing our best is all we can do. We can only lift our chins and look forward to the brilliantly blazing sunrise ahead, and no matter what struggles or troubles twine around our ankles to hold us down, we must keep walking forward, side by side. There will always be tomorrow and tomorrow and the moment of today.

In that particular moment, though, just the two of us sitting down at the table and eating curry together for dinner in a mundane scene that has replayed hundreds of times before, it feels like we can take on the world. It's a rather nice feeling, and I decide that I like it.

Three days later, Konoha declares war.

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* * *

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…

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* * *

Author's Notes:

Second chapter complete. (Throws confetti) Took a lot longer than I expected, but RL has been very, very busy. Let's just leave it at that.

Still some jumping around in narration here, but we're progressing with the storyline in a mostly-linear manner, starting from a quick overview of genin times and more insight into the OC's character. Some things will be elaborated on and clarified in later chapters, so if you're curious about stuff that got glossed over, they will most likely be revisited in more detail later. ;3 Feel free to still leave comments on things you'd like clarified, though. And on that note, I have no idea if I'm going to be able to finish this thing in only 5 chapters. Still want to keep things short, though. Goals, man.

Next two chapters or so should still be T I think, but we might be hitting M after that, so. Fair warning here! Even if it might not be entirely accurate, but the M-rating is something that the story will be bumped up to later on. I will also mention it at the beginning of the chapter when that happens.

 **EDIT:** The M rating is for disturbing content, gore, etc. It is NOT for smut. That's not my cup of tea.

Aiming to update this fic a few more times over summer. Hopefully. :D

 _NOTE:_ On the topic of updates, OTD (KHR OC fic) has been recently updated, so remember to check that out on my profile if you're interested! :D

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 **QUESTION:** Any thoughts on the narrative in comparison to the first chapter? Things you like, things you hated? Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

* * *

Haven't edited this yet, so help in pointing out errors in the text would be greatly appreciated. :3

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


	3. 03: black light

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Title: daisies bloom over yonder meadow

Rating: Temporary T still.

Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

(AN at the bottom.)

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* * *

 **daisies bloom over yonder meadow**

 _03: "black light"_

* * *

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You have a good idea of what _war_ is, I presume, but I hope you won't mind that I'll take a moment to paint another image of it here.

War.

War is a fight, a battle, a struggle –it is the brutal competition both over resources and over ideology. Not necessarily always wholesale slaughter, as shinobi tend to know and define it as; war can certainly be waged in blood as it is wont to be, but it can also be waged through other means as well. You understand, don't you? Bloodless wars can be fought over the political battlefield just as deadly as those taking place on the physical battleground…

But again, I digress.

There are many different reasons for which war is waged, yet at the end of the day when you stop to fully consider war in all its bloody glory, this is what all those endless battles day in and day out boil down to. This is the important reason that is given to us for the sake of alighting our sense of duty and purpose to die: _The ends justify the means._

The ends justify the means.

… I believe that you'll find that this is the way a lot of people think. Perhaps you already know. I myself am not entirely immune to this belief, either, albeit perhaps not quite along the same lines.

It probably has something to do with the way we are taught, the way we are trained –throughout the course of a ninja's career, there are a countless number of atrocities that the ninja in question must commit with their own two hands. And in those striking, blinding moments of self-doubt, of guilt, of hopelessness, when the entire world comes crushing down around them, this is the singular thought that they hold on to: _The ends justify the means._

All that we do –is for the betterment of the village.

So there is no need to stumble, no need to falter. For the sake of Konoha, anything. _Anything._

Patriotism has always been highly encouraged in hidden villages, and for good reason. It is always good for the village to have more shinobi willing to die for them, to lay down their lives for the sake of the village as a whole. To love love _love_ the village more than anything else, to _exist_ for the village.

Rather much like ojii-san and the Clan, really, if you stop and think about it. Ojii-san loves the Clan very much.

(Ah, whoops. That would be 'loved.' Do pardon me there, please.)

Devotion was not something that I had understood very well at the time, back when the sparks of war first began to fly. When it had initially been publicly announced that Konoha would formally declare war on Iwa and its allies, it wasn't like I suddenly developed a pressing anxiety to leap up and do my part in defending the village, to protect and serve the village any way I could as my duty and status as a Konoha shinobi dictated I should. It hadn't exactly been crippling fear that I experienced in that moment, either, the fear of marching on to the battleground and dying a cockroach's death when I still had an entire life left to live.

A little nervous. Slight trepidation. Vague plans for how I needed to tidy up ojii-san's house before leaving on mass deployment.

… That was all.

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* * *

.

I must admit, for all that Konoha had never quite felt like _home_ to me the way home should feel, it would be a lie to say that I didn't care about the village at all, that I am entirely apathetic to its survival. Because if nothing else, Konoha is at least Obito's home, and maybe the very fact that this leaf-village is Obito's home… maybe it is reason enough to fight for Konoha.

(Or at least, that was how I'd felt at the time when marching off to war.)

"Stay safe, Madoka-chan." Earnest and concerned, hearing Obito's words spoken in such a tone of voice had been very heartwarming. "Be careful out there, okay? I know that you've finally made chuunin now and everything like Baka-kashi did ages ago, but just… take care of yourself, won't you?"

… How much had it hurt him to say those words at the time, though? Well-wishes and reminders to be careful, to heed caution. _I can't be there with you to watch out for you, so please watch out for yourself, right? I don't want to lose you, Madoka-chan._

I don't want to lose you either, dearest cousin.

(But sometimes, when it comes to matters like these –they are not events that you or I have any control over, and we all bow down to fate.)

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* * *

.

… On the other hand, do you know what it means?

To fight for Konoha, that is. Do you know what it really means? Yes, yes you do. But do you know what it means to _me?_ Can you imagine?

Imagine my position: A young girl, barely ten years of age, only passing the chuunin exam by the skin of her teeth because _god knows she honestly should've failed,_ unsuited for command as she is even if her skills are adequate and passable enough. Under normal circumstances, a showing like that shouldn't have made chuunin. Maybe she would've been commended for her skills, but she shouldn't have made chuunin. Do you know why she passed?

… Yes.

Yes, of course it's because of the war looming on the horizon. Because sometimes, a war eats up human lives with far greater hunger than it does resources.

So as the village turns to war, when a newly-promoted chuunin is sent to the battlefront with so many others of similar ilk, right on the front lines where death awaits with open arms – _do you know what it means?_

…

… Do you know what it means to _know_ that you are disposable and worthless to the village, to be sent out to almost-certain death… yet still muster up the strength to find the fortitude to remain loyal to this village and fight for it with _everything_ you have and more until your last, dying breath?

Of course you do. What am I even talking about here?

 _Of course you do._

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* * *

.

In some ways, though, perhaps it can be argued that, in all the ways that truly matter –there is no use in complaining, in resenting. And why would there be? Shinobi are all creatures of blood, born and bred to kill and kill until they themselves fall prey to death as well. So what should it matter, fighting to complete a courier mission versus fighting to protect an outpost versus fighting to destroy an enemy base? It's all just fighting, in the end. So what's even the point about dithering mindlessly over it like this?

(Dying of one's own accord, fighting by one's own will, was not a concept that had crossed my mind at the time.

… I like it. _I like it.)_

The majority of my memories scattered throughout this time consist of fighting. I can't help it, it's just how my mind is wired. It's how all of our minds are wired, some more so than others. But particularly those with the Sharingan, I am inclined to believe.

Because with the Sharingan, everything we see –literally _everything_ we see with these crimson-gleaming, pinwheel-flower eyes– is remembered. Everything that is seen through these Sharingan eyes, becomes engraved into memory. _Forever._

Hehe. Sounds almost romantic when you put it that way, doesn't it?

 _Forever._

(… Too bad there's no such thing as forever. I, personally, don't believe in the idea of anything lasting forever for all eternity. Do you?

I think it would certainly be very tragic if anything survived for eternity.)

It definitely _feels_ like forever, though, these endless battles that repeat themselves again and again and over again. Leap into the air, twist, dodge knives and daggers and stab a kunai into a man's skull. Right there, right through the fleshy, vulnerable eye.

Squishy, wet, warm. Hot and burning and _red._

I lean forward to wind my small arms around the head and twist it clean off in a gory splatter of blood and unidentifiable bits of flesh, just to make sure he really _is_ dead, even though stabbing in all the way through to the brain through the eye should've ensured death already. Some shinobi have rather nasty tricks up their arms, and I'd rather not be surprised any more than necessary. And once is already one times too many.

Most surprises on the battlefield aren't exactly of the pleasant sort, when it comes to the people that you're fighting tooth and nail to kill.

Greenhorn chuunin as I was back then, a rookie to the ways of large-scale warfare and mass destruction, there is really no better incentive to buckle down and _learn_ to survive when it's your life on the line. Conserve your supplies, double-check and triple-check before settling down to make camp, always keep an extra eye out even if you aren't the one on guard duty. We're only human, after all, and everyone makes mistakes. Some more fatal than others, as the case may be.

I still have nightmares about waking up and staring a faceless Iwa-ninja straight in the eyes. Sometimes it flickers, like hazy fire-smoke, but other times it's wholly lightless and dark as night. Sometimes I see a faded shuriken cut curling down the left cheekbone, sometimes it's on the right. What never changes is the sharp blade pressing down against my throat, and for that very reason I have never fully trusted my safety to any guard again –a paranoia that would go on to last throughout the entirety of the war and beyond.

I still have a scar, right here on my neck. See? Right here.

We've occasionally discussed this between ourselves before, the other chuunin out on deployment and I, during the precious few moments of downtime that we receive to rest and recuperate before the next battle. About the injuries we receive, the close calls we experience, the sheer sense of relief at being able to breathe and live to fight another day as we crawl away from the ever-advancing, gaping maws of death.

"But in a way it's good, right?" A nameless chuunin laughs breathlessly, smiling with too-bright eyes and cheer that no one has the courage to point out as fake. "At least we can still feel pain. Pain lets us know that we're still alive, and as long as we're still alive… as long as we still live, we can keep on walking forwards, ne?"

Pain is a bit of a curious little thing for me. Maybe it's because of ojii-san, but pain –there is real pain, there is fake pain, and there is a cross between real-pain-bleeding-into-fake and fake-pain-bleeding-into-real. Ojii-san is very good at identifying and differentiating between the two, but as for I… well.

Even now, I still have much room for improvement.

(There's always room for improvement, isn't there?)

Pain. If I trap someone in a genjutsu containing all the horrors I experienced during my time on the war front, if they feel the same pain that I once had simply by virtue of the jutsu I placed them under, does that make the pain they've felt any less than the pain I experienced upon waking from the nightmare? Even if it leaves no visible scars on their body, the mind remembers. Not quite the same as Tsukuyomi, because the body doesn't retain the same memory of the illusion and is unaffected in that respect, but for any genjutsu – _the mind remembers._

So.

Genjutsu. Illusion, fake, the flap of a butterfly's wings.

Doesn't mean that it is any less _real,_ the pain that is wrought through this art.

'It's good that we can still feel pain, because pain lets us know that we're still alive.' But imagine someone under Tsukuyomi being killed promptly in the physical plane, while their mind still endures an excruciating eternity of torment. The mind's torment isn't a sign of life here: It's a sign of death.

'As long as we're still alive, we can keep walking forwards.' That… I don't exactly disagree with. But.

But shinobi are creatures of darkness; even towards a future filled with light, we will always creep in the grime and shadows where we belong.

.

* * *

.

The future is important. Hope and dreams and determination to improve for the better. Yet even though the future is important, there is no point in forever gazing off into a distant future with no regard for the present. The present is important, too, for without the present there can be no future.

So, war.

The first few weeks are a challenge. Those who manage to adapt to the grueling pace of the war survive, and those who fail to do so… don't. There had been a sudden spike of a particularly high number of deaths once more enemy teams were officially sent out, but soon there seemed to be a settled balance of sorts, and chuunin squads stopped switching members so often.

If you're curious to know, I was definitely on the younger side of the soldiers present on the field, but I wasn't the only one. There were a fair number of children around my age or slightly older, and even a few who were younger, too –although, I was definitely the shortest and scrawniest of the lot, weakest in stamina as kunoichi traditionally tended to be, but skilled enough in genjutsu to make up for the lack of physical ability.

Being an eleven year-old child might've had something to do with that physical lacking, too.

(Although it hadn't _just_ been those reasons for my physical ineptitude back then, although it really stemmed from something else –how could I have ever known at the time?)

It's not easy to keep up with grown men when you're just a child, but being a child has certain advantages of its own, too. People always tend to underestimate you, however slightly –and a child's body is lighter and faster and as long as no one gets in a good hit to put you down, it's easier than one would think to give up the veneer of civility and be downright _vicious._ It's a matter of life or death, after all, with your own life on the line.

High stakes. Very motivational for tossing textbook techniques straight out the window in favor of slugging it out fast and dirty. Whatever works, right? 'A good cat is the one that catches the rat,' or something like that. Not the one playing with a yarn ball.

I haven't needed a focus for my genjutsu in a long time, but during those black-gold hazy war days of spilling blood on blood and facing down the very real terror of impending death, when my control and mastery over illusions wasn't quite so good yet, I painted two black lines over each fingernail every day. One for dear ojii-san who had opened the doors to the world of crimson-blooming flowers and madness to my eyes, and one for my beloved Obito, who was laughter and sunshine and _light._

Serenity and ironclad will, radiance and goodness.

How could I not love them? How could I not _love_ them, and use their love as reminders to tether myself to reality instead of losing myself to my own crafted world of illusions?

I know of some who use scents to find their way back to reality. Flower-scents, leaf-scents, wood-scents. Metal and blood would be much less noticeable, but in the heat of war, there was always the scent of metal and blood floating everywhere. There are others who use auditory sounds –bells, for example, to hold themselves in reality whilst sending their targets into a skewed world of upside-down madness.

But I chose ojii-san and Obito. Rather powerful reminders, the two of them. It's a bit hard to get lost when I constantly carry them around with me.

Even with them standing at my side, though, I almost die. Many times, multiple times. Being deft with a knife and skilled at spinning webs of genjutsu doesn't matter in the least when someone unexpectedly shoves a spike of earth at you and impales you through the side and you're left with no time to react when their partner promptly bears down on you with a short blade. Or when you unknowingly trigger one of the enemy's traps, and then suddenly you're too busy dodging the relentless onslaught shuriken to properly focus and take down the shinobi who's about to bifurcate you from behind.

I manage to learn, though. Learning from necessity. I've always been very, very good with that.

It's why I'm still alive to this day.

(… But not for long. Not for long. And you know what? I'm… perfectly fine with that.)

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* * *

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" _Ne, Madoka?"_

" _Yes, Obito?"_

"… _Please don't die."_

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* * *

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There are a lot of things that I'm willing to do for Obito. It's _love,_ I know it is. Love is blind. And maybe there's an unhealthy dose of dependency and insanity mixed somewhere in there as well, but I know in my heart that I love him very, very much.

Maybe it began sometime when we were walking down the streets of the Uchiha district with grocery bags in hand, maybe it began sometime under the persimmon tree, maybe it started the moment we first met each other and Obito reached out to me with buoyant laughter bubbling in his throat and a bright smile painted over his lips.

You know that feeling, when it almost seems as if a single person is your entire world, don't you? Things were very much like that for me back in those blood-mist days of battle and death, death and battle.

"Sometimes," I confide in him once, on a rare downtime period between deployments when I'm back in the village and Obito is not out and away on a mission. "Sometimes I think that it's pointless, this fighting. Sometimes I'm standing right in the thick of the battlefield, burning blood and steel and the rumbling of the splitting earth into my mind, and it's just… _useless._ What do we have to gain from fighting? There is only ever more and more fighting that awaits us at the end of the day."

"That's not–"

"Ojii-san was right," I muse aloud in a quiet voice, half-introspective and half-thoughtful. "Violence and battle –for shinobi, it is the circle of eternity that we write ourselves into by grace of blood and steel, and from it there is no escape."

" _Madoka-chan,"_ Obito holds me by my shoulders, and for a moment I am struck by our discrepancy in height, as he towers above me and looks me straight in the pinwheel-flower eyes. "Madoka-chan, listen to me. You're overthinking things again. It's not useless! We're fighting to _protect,_ not fighting for the sake of mindlessly fighting. We're not–"

"No, no, no," I laugh, and it's a bright, happy sound. "You misunderstand me, Obito. I think it's undeniably useless and pointless, but I don't exactly _mind_ it, this fighting."

He blinks, frowning in confusion and worry seeping into cobalt-black eyes. "Madoka-chan…?"

Isn't it obvious?

… For _you,_ Obito. Because you love me, and because you love Konoha.

That itself is reason enough.

Something as faceless as a clan, as abstract as an entire village –it's all just a concept, in my mind, a concept that I cannot bring myself to hold any genuine regard for from my heart. For all that I do not _feel_ properly as others so easily do, I do not think that it means that I am alone in this thought. Plenty of ninjas, when they fight… aside from the patriotism that burns at the forefront of their minds, they also think of family and friends and comrades, of beloved ones whom they are willing to throw away their lives for, whom they would do _anything_ to keep safe.

So it's fine with me, that I fight and fight and fight and almost die, but get up and keep on fighting in the name of Konoha. Even though I don't feel anything for _Konoha–_

Obito does.

Obito does, and I love Obito. And so I fight for Konoha.

.

* * *

.

It's a steady balance, this realization. It's one that helps to keep the knives in my hands sharp and my illusions swift and subtle. I don't pause to reconsider and start rethinking my stance on things until _that day,_ until the moment of high noon on a cloudless, windless day when I receive the world-shattering news in a rushed scrawl on a sheaf of paper distantly informing me that _Obito is dead._

Obito is dead.

Dead.

 _Dead._

Obito is dead. He died on a mission, fighting this war for Konoha as a faceless soldier. Just another statistic. Dead, dead, _dead._ Even as the tides turn and victory for this war finally glimmers faintly in sight, what use is there in victory anymore?

Dead. Dead and gone and gone to be dead. Never to return.

(… You might've heard of it before, right? It has a name, this turning point, when the gears turn and everything begins changing. There is a name for this. It's called the _Kannabi Bridge Incident.)_

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Third chapter done.

From the few comments I've received so far, I've gathered the idea that the narrative here in daisies is confusing. I get it. For the most part, though, it's confusing since the OC narrator herself is 'confused,' and if I ever get around to finishing, it'll be super clear why I took the pains of making everything in the narration so convoluted. I'm not the kind of person that likes looping things around for no reason, I'll tell you that. :P I do apologize if it's way too convoluted for anyone to make any sense of, though. At least we're moving on with a vague-ish plotline here?

More canon characters should be coming in as of the next chapter, but I'm not going to guarantee anything here quite just yet.

Anyways, sorry for the slow updates (to anyone who still might be interested in reading daisies). The goal was to finish this during summer break, but the start of the next school year is coming up fast, and that might be a tall order, haha. Well. Since this story was never really meant to last too long, I still don't expect it to drag on and on like how some of my other stories seem to be a little permanently stuck… :'D

I'm in the mood to work on OTD and left hand right now, but there never seems to be time, haha. Maybe I should focus on finishing daisies first since I basically have everything planned out, huh. Hmmm, that's an idea. (Rubs hands)

* * *

 **QUESTION:** On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 as 'perfectly normal' and 10 as 'batshit insane,' what would you rate Madoka's sanity level as?

* * *

Reviews are love! Leave a comment with your thoughts and feedback, please. Just pointing out grammar mistakes or other errors of the like would also be very much appreciated.

Cheers,

XxZuiliu


	4. 04: splatter

.

Title: daisies bloom over yonder meadow

Rating: Temporary T.

Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

(AN at the bottom.)

.

* * *

 **daisies bloom over yonder meadow**

 _04: "splatter"_

* * *

.

(I still remember in perfect detail the black-red sky of a world delicately crafted from lies, of blankly staring up into a scarlet moon as blood rains down from the sky.

But it's not warm. It's not warm at all.

When droplets of blood ooze slowly down from the water-cracks of that drunken sky, reflecting a near-broken still-breaking mind, when the droplets reach to caress my face and trail down my cheeks, it's not warm the way human blood ought to be. It's _cold._ Cold, cold, cold. It's so cold that it _burns,_ within that impenetrable drunken haze that stretches on and on for both a single moment and all of eternity _._

… The blood of demons, perhaps. We may wear a human skin over our bodies, but we invite demons into our minds. Our minds –it is no large secret that our mind is the kingdom of devils, the unchallenged domain of madness where it exists in its purest and most finest form.

"Madoka-chan."

"Hai, ojii-san?"

In midst of all the darkness, a flower blossoms. A flower blossoms from the muddled waters of endless, drunken dreams. It is a flower that blooms. A flower blooms, a crimson-blooming pinwheel flower that cuts through and destroys all, built of blood and bone and feeding on the weakness, brittleness of man.

It's a beautiful flower.

(Then I blink, and the flower disappears. From where the petals had once unfurled one by one, I only see the wrinkled face of the aged man I love.)

"Madoka-chan," ojii-san says. "I've failed. You are not what I hoped you would be, what I wished you could become, what you need to be… I'm sorry, child."

A pulse of black flames, hungry flames follow this pronouncement, and all is engulfed under the drunken waves. Seven days and seven nights, and the world is drowned in blood.

Yet by the end of it all, when the flames finally devour my flesh and incinerate my bones, blazing and burning until even ashes do not remain, something slumbering deep within the depths of my mind _shifts_ and stirs, as if awakening in a cry of pain, of heart-splitting, soul-rending loss–

Something shifts and stirs, and then gently reaches out to tear down and grasp at this crumbling, dying world of drunken blood and flame.

It is not done deliberately, not on my behalf. Not quite. I sigh softly as I shatter my mind against my dear, beloved ojii-san's, fully embracing the waters of crimson nightmares and copper dreams with a slow, slow blink of my right eye.

"I forgive you, ojii-san.")

.

* * *

.

When Nara Hiruko had died, I'd been incapable of mustering up any real feelings about the tragic event towards him. There was the vague acknowledgment of some sort of crushing loss I should express, but it was only out of obligation. It wasn't the sort of loss that I was able to truly feel deep down, not the sort of biting _hurt_ that cut deep into the heart and carved out a permanent, empty void in there.

I mentioned it before, didn't I? I'd even felt relief at the time –I'd been _relieved_ that I didn't truly feel for him nor love him as a teammate should. Obito, however.

Obito. _Obito._

Stare. Staring blankly at a slip of paper and the cold pronouncement it brings. Fingers growing numb. Not even feeling the loss of strength in my fingertips until the slip of paper falls from my hands, drifts towards the ground, and then I am shaken out of my stupor and immediately snatch it up once more, casting my eyes over the words again and again –and still nothing about the message changes.

Bitterness clogs my throat with a choking grip, all hopes of denial cast aside. Reality rears its ugly head; the truth is there to be seen.

 _But what if it's just a mistake? What if, what if, what if–_

 _His teammates are alive, aren't they?_

 _(If Obito is dead, wHy ArE thEy StILL aLiVE?)_

But hope, there is always hope.

Yet the faint flickers of hope spinning feather-light in my chest are forcibly collapsed upon finding Hatake Kakashi and Nohara Rin, upon finding them and demanding an explanation for the death missive from them. For _Obito's_ death missive.

 _Veering away from mission parameters?_

 _Rescuing a teammate?_

 _Sacrificing himself to protect them?_

… How can that be? _How can that be?_ Why would he ever do that?! And all for what? For _them?_

It's not worth it, not worth it. It's not worth it. How can they _possibly_ be worth dying for?

…

 _I don't understand._

.

* * *

.

(If you are to ask me _now,_ however, I think… I think I can honestly say that I have a better inkling of what Obito had felt at the time, of what he had felt when he'd been outclassed and outmatched by enemy ninjas, and his teammates were about to die.

… It would be why I'm even standing here like this right now with you, I suppose. Right, silly?)

.

* * *

.

"He… he did it for me." I can still see it in my mind, the moment she opened her lips and spoke. Clear as day. That soft, shaking voice. Red-rimmed eyes. Yet pity was the last of the feelings I was capable of mustering up for Nohara Rin in that moment as I stood before her that day, a whole head shorter but no less implacable and stonily silent as I waited to hear her words. Her explanation.

Her explanation for _why Obito wasn't coming back._

"… It's all my fault." Hands clasped together tightly on her legs, Nohara cast her eyes to the ground morosely. _Guilt._ "My fault. I was… I didn't think… and they… they caught me. _Me._ I was careless, and got captured for it. Obito, he…!"

"I made the call." Hatake Kakashi's jaw clenched, a visible line even behind the cloth mask covering his face. "As team leader, the responsibility for our actions lies solely with me. We went back for you _together,_ Rin. Obito, he –it's not your fault. If anything, it's _mine._ If I'd moved only a little bit faster, if I'd _noticed_ that trap, then he wouldn't have had to–"

 _Then he wouldn't have had to be literally crushed to death under an avalanche of mud and stone and rubble, just so he could save me… and take my place._

There was no expression on my face as I listened to their stumbling words. Everything felt numb. Almost foggy, as if I was standing on the other side of a thin layer of glass that wished to separate me from reality.

But there was no way to ignore this reality.

"… He died to save you, then. Both of you."

Both ninjas flinched, a body-wide expression that was more a harsh jerk in Hatake's case and a shaky tremble for Nohara.

"Why?" I go on to ask blandly, and am only met by unerring silence to the chilling, challenging question.

 _Why?_

 _Why you?_

 _Obito is light and laughter and the radiance that never fades to darkness. He is the sun, and what are you?_

(… But for Obito, this was his _team,_ his family. _Family._ Even within the clan, Obito had been orphaned young, and there were not many whom he was close to… save for a little cousin who had probably been the least of worries on his mind when he saw the life-threatening danger that his _teammates_ had been placed in right before his eyes.)

"… I'm sorry."

"'Sorry,'" I repeat dully, unknowingly letting black eyes darken into red. _"'Sorry.'_ Just saying sorry isn't going to bring Obito back, Hatake. Did you know that he always complains about how much of a jerk you are to him and Nohara all the time?"

"I-I didn't–"

" _You did._ But he also laughs whenever he recounts the pranks he pulls on you. The team training sessions that the three of you have always keeps him away from ojii-san's house until sundown." I pause for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, to find the precise words that I'm looking for. It's an exercise in futility. "I… _I really don't understand._ You're a family, a team, no matter how dysfunctional… aren't you? I know how that's supposed to work. Obito knows that, too. Obito knows that, loves that. _He loves his family._ So he died for you. But why won't you die for _him?"_

"It's not like that!" Nohara bursts out, something suspiciously watery glimmering in her eyes. I can't find it in myself to care. "Madoka-chan, _it's not like that!_ You weren't there at the time; you have no idea what it was like! We didn't– It wasn't like we wanted Obito to– to–"

I wasn't there.

I wasn't there, when Obito died.

I wasn't there, when Obito died. When the Obito that I love died. I. Wasn't. _There._

…

… I wasn't there, but… but _they_ were. _They were there_. Nohara Rin and Hatake Kakashi. Friends, teammates, family? Maybe. Yes. Yes, they were precious, precious people whom Obito wanted to protect, whom he had died protecting.

But they couldn't protect Obito, not when it truly mattered.

…

I'm not sure who made the first move –maybe it was when Nohara reached out towards me in concern upon seeing me go still and quiet after she broke off from her words, and I only held enough state of mind to _react,_ reacting automatically upon seeing the stupid, _stupid_ so-called friend, _teammate_ that Obito _threw away his life for–_

When you spend the bulk of your days fighting from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn on the front lines of a war, even if you are not the strongest when it comes to physical power, it hones your speed. Your accuracy. If it were not for Hatake Kakashi bodily throwing her out of the way at the last second and meeting my kunai with his own, I would've slit open Nohara's throat then and there on the spot.

I didn't stop there, though. No, more than that. I _couldn't_ stop.

I could feel it.

I could _feel_ it, the pain of being buried alive, lungs welling up and overflowing with blood, _dying–_

 _Ah._

 _Ah, I understand now._

 _So this is… despair._

… Hatake Kakashi, genius and prodigy. He was not someone I stood a proper chance at defeating, under normal circumstances, not as I was. Not as I had been. But right there and then, he was _injured_ from his disastrous mission and I was not, and so I still had a chance. And so I pressed onwards faster and faster and _faster,_ with increasing ferocity and lack of regard for technique.

But when one of my blows caught him on the side of his head, tearing his headband to the ground–

I could only stop and stare.

" _Obito,"_ I breathe out, in a tone of voice that is halfway torn between abject horror and sheer amazement, staring into what cannot be anything else but the crimson pinwheel eye of my beloved cousin. I cannot explain how I recognize that it is _him,_ but I know it in my blood.

The shock of seeing Obito's eye in _his_ face is enough to make me stumble back and _laugh,_ hands coming up to cover my own eyes as I laugh and laugh and cry. My left eye burns, _burns_ upon seeing this, of this undeniable confirmation of his demise –and the drunken waters of my right eye, buried so deeply within my mind for ojii-san, stir restlessly as if in echoing harmony to the emotion. To this feeling of acute loss that I'd known so well and would do anything to avoid feeling once again.

But it was all useless.

At this moment, the quiet sadness of the drunken world I had grown accustomed to carrying in ojii-san's memory could not even _begin_ to compare to the hellish burning of my left eye.

 _Protect, shield, deflect._

 _You want to protect him. Protect Obito. For him,_ anything. _You wish to protect him from all harm by any means._

 _But it's too late, too late, TOO LATE, DON'T YOU KNOW?_

 _HA. HA. HA._

 _HE IS DEAD._

 _(And you are not.)_

…

… Obito's eye… _crying…_

…

… No. No, wait. _Wait._ Back up, stop, _think._ Obito's eye. This is Obito's eye. But in _Hatake's_ face? How–?

Medic.

Nohara.

 _Nohara._

… Fucking _Nohara._

This is Obito's eye – _Obito's eye!_ He _died_ for her; how can she just–

 _(Rin-chan is really sweet and nice, Madoka-chan! I'm sure you'll like her!)_

…

I _snarl_ with a strangled, guttural scream rising low and primal from my throat upon this realization, leaping straight for the crying girl that my cousin loved.

Knife in hand, and out for _blood._

.

* * *

.

(Namikaze Minato is a brilliant shinobi.

Not only a brilliant shinobi, but a brilliant leader as well. Warm, friendly, charismatic. He has an aura about him that almost automatically sets most anyone at ease, and there are many who say that he has a way of bringing out the better aspects of a person, encouraging them to strive for the best.

But in the moment that a blinding yellow light floods the clearing and I abruptly find myself knocked to the ground, harshly pinned against the mud and grass with startled shouts ringing in my ears, I _know_ with a singular crystal-clarity that I have never hated anyone as much as I did Namikaze then.)

.

* * *

.

"You shouldn't blame them."

A steaming bowl of ramen sits in front of me, paid for and wafting with a delicious aroma, but untouched. From beside me, I hear the blond man _–Obito's sensei–_ heave a heavy sigh and move to break apart a pair of chopsticks for me, placing it down on the edge of my bowl.

My left eye is still throbbing.

 _Obito._

"Eat. You'll feel better with something warm in your stomach," the man insists, though not forcibly. His concern is warm, but I can still feel the cold imprint of his knee in my back, from when he proceeded to take me down in less than a second mere moments before. From when he appeared in the training field that I had chosen to confront Nohara and Hatake in. "Have you even been taking care of yourself lately?"

I was very tempted to tell him to _go away, get lost, I don't want your sympathy._ But that would be so very rude, wouldn't it?

And so I stay silent.

The man sighs again, rubbing his head in a pained move that speaks of nothing but fatigue, tiredness. If I were not feeling so uncharitable towards anyone who'd had a hand in Obito's death, no matter how inadvertently, maybe I would be more cooperative with his efforts.

"Look," he says. "Look, I understand that you're angry with them. But please keep in mind that it's not their fault Obito didn't make it back. Kakashi and Rin… under the circumstances at the time, they did their best."

"Their best wasn't enough."

"No, it wasn't." The blond agreed with me, surprisingly enough. I glanced up at him, but he was carefully stirring his own bowl of ramen instead of looking at me, and it struck me that this was a sensitive topic for him as well. Bitterness welled up in my throat. "But they did their best. And really, that's all anyone could've asked of them."

"…"

"That's not what you're really upset about, though, is it?"

"… No."

Perceptive, this man. Namikaze Minato _finally_ looks up from his ramen at this point and smiles at me, the little cousin of his late student who nearly killed another one of his remaining students out of grief and rage and _loss._

"Obito _does_ care for you," he says gently, and I carefully still to hide the way my hands tremble at the words, the way my breath catches. "He didn't mean to leave you alone like this. He cares for you, Madoka-chan… just as he cares for Rin and Kakashi as well."

Now it's my turn to stare down resolutely at the ramen in my bowl.

"D'you know that he's actually talked a lot about you with us?" the man commented conversationally, ignoring his ramen. "He'd always be going on about that genius little cousin of his who's nearly as socially-inept as Kakashi, who still goes to sneak dried persimmons from the back porch with him anyways when he asks her to."

I smile lightly at this, but it's a sad little smile, one full of helplessness.

"You are not the only one who loved Obito." Namikaze reminds me quietly, though not unkindly. "But you are also not the only one that Obito loved. And sometimes… sometimes, when the ones we love make choices that hurt us like this, you certainly have the right to choose to be angry with them or to forgive them. Please don't take it out on his other loved ones, though.

Do you think Obito would ever want to see that?"

.

* * *

.

(Love, love, love.

Humans kill and fight and die for love.

… And in the end, I am only human.)

.

* * *

.

It feels like the world should stop, in wake of his death.

With Obito dead, it feels like sunshine should fade away and colors should seep out into a dull, monochrome scale. It feels like the birds should stop chirping and the wind should stop blowing. Trees should dry and wither, and the world would then hold its breath and stutter to a stop.

But it doesn't.

Even though Obito is dead, the sun rises again the next day. People still mill about the streets and go to visit the marketplace. Ninjas are still called out on missions for the war effort.

Life goes on. The _war_ goes on.

I march out to my death along with a dozen others within the week. Manpower is manpower. A few days' grace for a chuunin to recuperate from the loss of a family member is more than enough, to the administration's eyes. The only other time I see Namikaze again in this period is at Obito's funeral within the Clan, when the man steps in and gives me a soft hug when he passes me by. I let him do so, if only because this is the man that Obito had respected, had loved, had adored. The father that he never had.

Nohara and Hatake avoid me. I pretend not to see them.

And when the funeral ends, I go back to war. I go back to the war, diving in headfirst to the days of crouching in the underbrush and crawling through mud with a blissfully mindless intensity, where it's so easy to kill and kill and _forget._

But this isn't something I can forget, not completely.

I return to crimson-copper days of murdering people with illusions and stabbing them to death, peeling off their skin. But it's useless. It's a familiar pattern that lacks the same fire, the same beat to it that it used to have, _for him,_ and I _miss_ Obito so much that it almost physically hurts.

I keep on painting two black lines over my fingernails, but it's not the _same._ Because I know that he isn't there anymore, not truly. Not even like how ojii-san still is, in a way, tucked away in a drunken world behind my right eye.

 _… Miss you, Obito._

.

* * *

.

I almost die.

More and more frequently, in increasingly dangerous, risky situations. I am shouted at and reprimanded by my squad leader multiple times for it, and I listen and nod to it all with a vague air of detachment.

It's good that I am detached, because they die and become replaced. We all become replaced.

I still remember that day. Smoke on the battlefield, people dying left and right and right and left as they are cut down by steel or ripped apart by jutsu. We fight back bravely, kunai and shuriken flying through the air, countering earth jutsu with blasts of wind and conflagrations of fire to turn back the tide. And I am right there in the midst of it all, dutifully convincing enemies that we are their allies while their own allies are the actually enemies, sowing havoc and confusion in my wake as I reach in and viciously tear out a man's still-beating heart before spinning back to avoid being beheaded.

(I can still hear the beating of Obito's heart in my ears, sometimes. A steady thump-thump-thump, as we fall asleep in the quiet backyard to the incessant chirping of cicadas under the cold stars in midsummer.)

" _To the left!"_

" _Watch out, watch out–"_

I can still remember it, even now.

(The boy.)

It is no oddity to see children on the battlefield, killing and fighting with men more than thrice their size and skill. But these children, these children are trained.

And so it is _strange_ to see an untrained child wandering the edge of a field of sprawling chaos and unending carnage, wide-eyed and unblinking. Caught in midst of the violent crossfire at its very edge, unable to look away from the horror of death. Pale face, dark eyes. I remember it so very _clearly,_ the smooth lines of that young face in the fire-light and smoke.

In a startling moment amidst the haze of blood and smoke, the child clearly reminded me of Obito.

(My body was moving before I'd even fully finished processing the thought in my mind.)

.

* * *

.

They looked alike, Obito and this nameless child. But although they looked alike, they weren't _that_ alike. There were obvious differences scattered about in their features that firmly set them apart from each other.

But Obito… Obito was a victim of this war, just as that little boy would be. And for what?

 _We fight to protect, Madoka-chan._

Protecting what, though? You can't fight if you're dead, Obito.

 _Hehe. I've got you to watch out for me, don't I?_

You have… me…

… Me…

…

…

… Maybe it's because of the bizzarity of seeing an untrained child shuffling about, maybe it's because of the smoke getting to my head, maybe it's the thoughts of Obito crossing my mind, of doing everything he can and never giving up and _protecting,_ that makes me throw my own body in front of the child with reckless abandon. I barely manage to wrap the threads of my chakra around him before I am dissolving into a feathery storm of darkness, as the world in front of me blurs and tilts sideways on its axis I feel so, so _faint,_ all my injuries and fatigue catching up with me in that moment.

 _"Shit,_ " I hiss under my breath, the familiar throbbing pain in my chest being roughly aggravated as I tumble down into the mud atop the frozen child. I turn my head to the side, coughing wetly, and blood seeps out from my lips.

"Shit," I mutter again, wiping the edge of my mouth with the back of my hand. Because important things should be repeated twice, and because I could _feel_ myself dying, blood seeping out from numerous wounds and chakra levels weakly flickering at an all-time low. Head spinning with hammers pounding away at my skull, and what felt like my chest trying to collapse inwards on itself.

(Can't even protect a child. How could I ever have thought that I'd be able to protect Obito, where even his teammates had failed?)

…

I am not aware of when I passed out, as you would know. But I think, in those moments…

I so very _dearly_ felt the weight of my failures and despair, of my own weakness and helplessness.

I wanted to die.

.

* * *

.

(I could've died back then, in that battle. By all rights, by all fairness of this broken world, I _should've_ died, passing out in a place like that, at a time like that, the way I did.

But I didn't, and so I lived.

… Not like Obito. Poor Obito. Obito hadn't wanted to die, but he did. He'd only ever wanted to fight, and protect. Anyone and anything he could. For the ones he loved, for his precious family, for Konoha.

 _(Fuck Konoha.)_

(But _Obito._ )

In hindsight, though… I'm glad I didn't die back then, if only because…

Ahh, patience. Hear me out, why don't you? Geez. There's a reason behind the things I do, y'know.)

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

And that's a wrap for the fourth chapter.

We'll be touching back on the grandfather's death again not-so-vaguely in the future, but it seemed like pulling up a small snippet of it immediately after Obito's "death" was something that would fit well here, which is my rationale behind the first little snippet of the chapter.

Also, any thoughts on the little altercation between Madoka and the rest of Team 7? I think there was a part earlier in the story where Madoka addressed Rin as 'Rin-san,' but changing it to calling her 'Nohara' in wake of Obito's demise seems more appropriate for Madoka's thoughts regarding the older girl.

If anything about Minato seems too OOC, let me know and I'll see what I can do about it to fix him up a little. I kind of went based off of how I thought he might act towards Madoka given that he was keeping in mind that she's very close to Obito, but I'm not quite sure of how the result comes across to other people. Help would be appreciated!

* * *

 **QUESTION:** So, after seeing Madoka's reaction to Obito's "death" in this chapter… any predictions as for what she might do once she eventually finds out that he's actually still alive?

* * *

Please leave a comment with your thoughts and feedback for this chapter! Catching mistakes in the text would be much appreciated as well.

Till next time

XxZuiliu


	5. 05: flickering

.

Title: daisies bloom over yonder meadow

Rating: Temporary T.

Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

(AN at the bottom.)

.

* * *

 **daisies bloom over yonder meadow**

 _05: "flickering"_

* * *

.

Sometimes, I pause to wonder what things might've been like if Uchiha Obito had never met Nohara Rin back then all those years ago on that clear spring day.

How different would everything have turned out, if he'd never noticed her during their Academy days? If he'd never been drawn in by kind words and a gentle smile, if he'd never fallen in love with that sweet, caring girl? What if they had never been placed on the same genin team as each other, what if they had never been given the chance to grow closer and bond with each other as they did?

Would he have been able to forget her, then? To erase her from his mind?

(… Somehow, I doubt it.)

.

* * *

.

 _That was a very reckless thing for you to do, Uchiha-san. Thank goodness they brought you in on time._

 _Did you know there was an rather nasty infection in that old wound on your leg? You're lucky we managed to catch it before it got any worse than it did. Left alone any longer, and we would've had to amputate it. Why in the world didn't you come in for this earlier? We did the best we could here, but you'll need to be properly treated for this back in Konoha…_

 _There was a fracture in your arm as well, Uchiha-san. And while we were healing it, we found some other old wounds along your upper arms and shoulders that have also been improperly healed. Those need to be checked up on as well once you return to Konoha's facilities, before they become long-term issues and affect your career any more than they already have._

 _It's really not healthy to let your chakra levels run low for long, extended periods of time. Didn't they cover this back in the Academy? Your genin sensei should've drilled this into your head, too. You could permanently damage your chakra system this way…_

 _We ran a few other diagnostics over you while you were unconscious. How long has it been since your last full-body checkup? We found a few abnormalities… they've already been noted in your file; those will be attached to the other medical reports. You'll be sent back to Konoha with the next group when they leave._

 _Are there any other injuries or symptoms that you need to report to us? No?_

… _Okay, that's enough for now. Get some rest, Uchiha-san. You'll be back in Konoha before you know it._

.

* * *

.

I first met Uchiha Mikoto out in the cramped confines of a dark, dingy medical tent, filled with grime and dirt and god-knows-what else in the humid darkness of the swampy earth. Such had been our conditions at the time. No one much liked being sent to the marshlands of Kusa, but no one had much of a choice for where they would be sent at all, least of all a nameless chuunin.

(Technically still a chuunin even now, albeit not as nameless as I had once been. But that's a little neither here nor there right now, ne?)

"Mikoto-sama," I'd greeted in a rasped voice, the way that courtesy and manners that ojii-san had drilled into me so long ago dictated I should respond, upon noticing the graceful woman's presence. There had been a fair bit of confusion on my part regarding her sudden arrival; the desolate edge of the Uchiha compound that I lived in was far from the Main House and its members, so it was rare that I would make any of their acquaintances at all, much less draw the attention of our lady Mikoto-sama.

… For all that I'd had my own share of these hushed whispers of _genius_ and _prodigy_ following me in the clan, ojii-san's presence in my childhood had kept those voices quiet. And in wake of his passing, I'd retreated to clinging to Obito at all times possible, inadvertently drawing away even further from the limelight of the clan's attention.

Obito, on the other hand, had always _craved_ the clan's acknowledgment; it was a large part of the motivation behind the pranks he pulled so often and the myriad errands he constantly ran for everyone. But even unto his death, he had always been unable to shake the image of a bumbling, clumsy boy.

(He's not, though. _He's not._ Obito is _so much more than that._ )

In contrast, even with the skill I possessed back then… I'd once thought that, perhaps… perhaps a significant portion of the reason I remained consistently overlooked was because of the narrow focus of my perceived ingenuity.

 _Genjutsu._

(Chuunin? Even making chuunin was an event that caused no particular stir; so many others had passed young that year, just as I did, all for the sake of the war on our doorstep…)

Genjutsu, and only genjutsu.

I was too short and too thin to have the right build, the right musculature for excelling at any kind of taijutsu, much less the lauded clan-style that I'd only known the bare basics of. A significant lack of physical strength as a child also carried over to mean a small chakra pool, which made practicing multiple ninjutsu in quick succession a difficult venture. Even spitting out the classic blazing conflagration of flames that all Uchiha shinobi looked upon as second nature took a lot out of me, and was not something I constantly did out in the field.

In truth, if I had not been as skilled with genjutsu as I was, I probably would've died the first time I stepped out to the front lines.

… It's not something I can put into words precisely. Genjutsu… genjutsu is something that had and has always been easier for me to work with, not like ninjutsu, even though it can be argued that both are chakra-based skills. Which is entirely true, not that this particular fact carries any real weight in this case.

Because unlike ninjutsu, genjutsu is tied to the _mind._ And ojii-san had always been very clear and candid with me about the demons that lived in our minds.

…

In retrospect, I can now see that the training ojii-san put me through was much, _much_ different from the regular training of other children of the clan. I'd always known, vaguely, that it was different, but I didn't realize just _how_ different my upbringing had been until…

… well.

"Rest easy, Madoka-chan," Mikoto-sama says, voice soft but no less audible in the darkness of the grime-filled earth. "I am here to express gratitude for saving my son."

Her son. Her… son?

 _(The boy._

 _Obito._

 _Not-Obito.)_

"My husband and I were unable to find any suitable caretakers back in the village, so we had no choice but to take him with us out here this time," the beautiful woman explains. From my prone position upon the stretcher, I catch a hint of movement from the side –but she is only raising her arm, drawing something in. A child. "It is difficult, to keep track of everything in midst of combat. _Thank you, Madoka-chan."_

"Thank you, Madoka-san," the boy dips into a small bow from his mother's left, voice just as soft, but subdued in a way where his mother is assertive. Maybe it's because of a reclusive personality, maybe it's because of shock from the experience he has been through, skirting so close to the battlefield at such a young age, being showered in _blood._

I wouldn't know.

 _Don't thank me,_ is what I would like to say to them. _I didn't_ want _to save you. Not you. Not you…_

.

* * *

.

(And _that_ is how I remember making the acquaintance of one Uchiha Itachi as well, at a time where gratitude means nothing to me and I could not care less about being acknowledged by others who are _not Obito,_ not if it means I still cannot die.

…

'Why,' you ask?

Because I'm bitter, I suppose. And also because I'm stupid. But… if you're really asking about it, if you want to hear the truth…

… I…

… I don't regret it.

Not as I once had, in grief and in rage. Not anymore.

 _No regrets._ That was our promise to each other, right?)

.

* * *

.

After being brought back to Konoha and firmly told that I needed to _rest_ in order to _recuperate,_ for me to _give the body some time to recover,_ I felt like screaming.

This is not what I want.

In the thick of battle, dodging blades and hurling knives and using the flickering guise of illusions to kill and kill and kill some more –even if I cannot _forget,_ not completely, it helps. It helps, having something to focus on in my hands like that, being able to throw myself into a task and not consider anything else until the mission has been completed.

It is another thing entirely to be told to _rest._ Rest and do what, exactly?

Ojii-san's house was even emptier than it used to be; broken shadows and twisted demons and the faint taste of regret, welded by madness. _Anyone_ would've gone insane, living in a home of ghosts like that. Obito was no longer there to drive away the darkness. Sometimes, when I woke up in the morning, the ceiling would be a mottled black-red sky where blood dripped down like a waterfall from the cracks in the wood.

Even with the Sharingan spinning brightly in your eyes, it is impossible to escape these ghosts entirely. You cannot escape from the demons lurking in your own mind.

(You can escape from glass-spun illusions, but you cannot escape from _yourself,_ from your own sins. Demons or not.

It's all the same in the end, really.)

 _Punishment,_ I think to myself, and don't bother seeing any medics or consultants for the blood streaking the walls or Obito's eyes rolling along the ground. Sometimes it's not his eyeballs, though. I _know_ that one was crushed underneath falling boulders, while the other now sits on Hatake's face; even though it hurts to see these black-flickering-red eyes roll along the dusty ground and leave a bloody trail in its wake, I know that it's not real. It's not real, not in the sense that the word _real_ usually applies in the conventional way of things.

Sometimes it's different, though.

 _What'cha doing there, Madoka-chan?_ Obito smiles at me, and it's no longer just his eyes rolling aimlessly along the ground anymore. It's his head. A decapitated head that's been roughly sawed off at the neck, with empty sockets for eyes, dripping blood everywhere. _Everywhere._ But I still smile in response and walk over, because even only having his head to keep me company is better than having no company at all.

"Chakra control exercises," I tell him. "I'm not allowed to do anything too strenuous right now, physically-speaking, since it might set back my recovery period. So, chakra control exercises it is."

 _I see, I see!_ Obito's mouth opens in a burst of laughter, and more blood falls to the ground with a wet, slick sound. He might've spat out his tongue, but somehow he keeps talking. _Always working yourself so hard, Madoka-chan. That's good! I'm on a team with Rin-chan and Baka-kashi, so I can't be there to watch out for you all the time. You take care of yourself, okay?_

I frown. _"You're_ the one who needs taking care of. Nohara and Hatake let you die, Obito."

 _Die? Ehh, me?_ His head rolls upside-down, and stops there. Blood begins welling up behind those empty, sunken eyelids. _I'm gonna be Hokage one day, Madoka-chan! There's no way I'll die before I achieve my dream!_

"You're dead, Obito," I sigh tiredly, and crouch down in front of the bleeding head. It takes less than a moment for me to pick it up with my hands and turn it around so we are directly face to face with each other, the living to the dead. "Dead, dead, _dead,_ you stupid dummy. I miss you."

… _I miss you too._

"You do?" I brighten at these words, bringing his head closer to my face in excitement. "Ne, ne, Obito. If you really miss me, then… then you don't mind if I come to find you, do you? It shouldn't be too hard; I think I finally know what I want now. I'll just–"

Blood. It falls down his face in a veritable curtain, a river of red flowing from empty eyes.

His blood is running down my hand and arms.

 _No, no. Don't follow me, Madoka-chan._ Obito grins jovially, and there it is again. The red-white flesh of mottled maggots, wriggling wildly to squirm out from behind his teeth. _You've gotta be awesome in your own way before finding me again! Future Hokage right here, remember?_

"You can't be Hokage if you're _dead,_ Obito," I shake his head. "That's not how it works."

He laughs, and becomes a ghastly, grinning skull in my hands, flesh-eating maggots squirming _everywhere._ I do not move, even as the flesh-eaters tear bloody holes into the palms of my hands.

" _Just you watch and wait, Madoka-chan. I'll surprise you all!"_

"Obito, _wait–"_

 _Wait._

 _Don't leave me behind._

… But it's too late. I blink, and suddenly the room is empty again. I am left the only person crouched in the corner of ojii-san's living room, and there is no trace of blood on the floorboards at all.

There is nothing but dust and darkness.

.

* * *

.

"I don't think that's very healthy, Madoka-chan."

I peer upwards at the tall man, vaguely conscious of my short stature in doing so. Everyone else in my age group has already hit a growth spurt; only I retain a child's height. It's inconvenient, at times.

"It's edible, Namikaze-san," is all I offer in response, picking up the bottle of soy sauce on the table and pouring it down. Between the two of us, the bubbling pot makes an ominous sound, and the giant raw squid sitting atop the assorted vegetables begins squirming wildly as the dark liquid hits its tentacles.

The blond man looks a little green in the face.

"Er, Madoka-chan, I _really_ don't think–"

"If you're concerned about the squid being alive, don't be," I assure him. "I already took out its brain."

The jounin pales.

.

* * *

.

It's… nice, this gesture. Namikaze Minato visits from time to time whenever he's back in the village –strangely enough, ever since the first time he caught me at dinnertime, he always deliberately makes a habit of _insisting_ to bring me food. Or taking me out to eat, if possible.

Hahaha.

… I don't pretend to be oblivious of why an esteemed jounin would bother taking time out of an undoubtedly busy schedule to check in on a nameless Uchiha chuunin, an orphaned little girl with no real connections to call her own. _Obito._ It all comes back to Obito –most likely it's part of an attempt to alleviate part of his own guilt in being unable to prevent my beloved cousin's death, or something similar.

It's not much of a secret that Obito and I had practically lived together in ojii-san's home, for all that Obito had an official guardian within the clan. Obito didn't like to talk about them too much, and I knew better than to ask –people were rarely kind without reason to.

In those days… I don't know why I don't kill myself. I certainly _remember_ flipping a kunai in my hands, again and again and again, and watching the way the dim lighting of my dusty room catches the sharp edge of the blade in free-fall. It's not as if I'm _afraid_ of death, not exactly. Of course I fear. There is always a very real, very human fear of death when you think of it as _death,_ but in terms of finding Obito…

Something stays my hand, though.

 _Don't follow me, Madoka-chan. You've gotta be awesome in your own way before finding me again!_

Stupid. I _know_ it's not real.

The pain from Obito's absence doesn't so much fade during that time as it… becomes easier to deal with. I've always been good at adapting. As much as I _want_ to see him –perhaps it's the thought of facing his _disappointment_ or _anger_ that I cannot handle, that makes me back down in the end. Disappointment at seeing a girl who is too cowardly to live her own life, disappointment at seeing a girl who hadn't even been _aware_ of his death until it came through a thin slip of paper. Anger at seeing a girl throw away her life so easily, as if life was something that held no value at all while he lost his not by choice. Anger at seeing a girl who was not there in his most vulnerable moment when he _needed_ her the way he had always been there for her in her own moments of need.

I cannot face Obito's disappointment, nor his anger.

And so I look at a kunai each morning morning, and put it down on the tableside before rising from bed.

Nothing changes.

… In contrast to my odd relationship with Namikaze, Nohara and Hatake do not seek me out of their own volition, and neither do I search for them. I keep to myself in the empty corner of the Uchiha district where ojii-san's house sits, and it's very easy to avoid them, even unintentionally. Namikaze wants us to be able to be cordial with each other – _closure,_ most likely, for his two students still hurting from the pain of Obito's death, and maybe in small part closure for his late student's hurting little cousin, too.

Ha!

What I needed was not _closure._

.

* * *

.

(Atonement.

I hope you never find something that you feel the need to _atone_ for. It can be… a very heavy burden to bear.

But I failed Obito once by letting him die. So how could I ever fail him again, then?

How could I?)

.

* * *

.

"Your leg will recover. It'll probably always be weaker than your other one, and you'll have to be careful to avoid putting too much stress on it, but on the bright side, no amputation!" The rambling words wash over me without any real meaning as the medic scribbles away on his clipboard. "I'll give it another week or so of crutches before giving you the green light to walk on your own again. How's the arm doing?"

"Fine."

"… Talkative as ever, I see. Okay. Well, the readings for that came back fine so as long as you're not _telling_ me that you feel any discomfort, I'm going to assume that everything really is fine. Incidentally, on the off-chance that you _do_ feel slight pain or soreness there, I would recommend using some hot towels. If the pain starts escalating, then come back to the hospital and we'll go from there."

I nod, and the medic continues writing on his papers.

"So, what've you been doing lately, Madoka-san?" his voice is breezy, casual. But genjutsu is all about picking up on the details, being aware of the nuances in body language and tonal changes –and I am acquainted enough with this particular medic to pick up on the ever-so-slight _off-note_ in his voice. "It's been nearly an entire month since you've been brought back from the war front. What've you been busying yourself with?"

"Chakra control exercises," I keep my response short and brief. "Sensei, I would appreciate it if we skipped the circles and got directly to the point. Is there something you'd like to say?"

The man coughs, and I notice it again. There it is. A slightly nervous edge to his hand, when he raises it to cover his mouth. "What makes you think _that,_ Madoka-san?"

" _Sensei."_

Blunt. Almost painfully so.

"… Can't get anything past you can I, Madoka-san?" the man attempts to smile, but it comes out as a lopsided one. "If you insist, then… Remember the checkups we went through two weeks back?

I wait for him to continue.

"I got the results back yesterday. They… well."

The man winces.

"Madoka-san, you've noticed your, err… small stature, right?" he starts off. "Normally I'd mark it as stunted growth from late-childhood starvation; not exactly a new case, but… um. Well. According to the scans, it's because of an unusually low bone-density, which translates to brittle bones in layman's terms, which _would_ explain those fractures and the difficulty behind your leg's recovery. Partially, at least… That usually wouldn't matter since you're a genjutsu-type, though; if you're careful about physical confrontations from here on out and don't get into physical engagements too often, it shouldn't be a problem."

But.

"But that's not all we found," the man hesitates again. "Madoka-san… the Uchiha clan _does_ offer civilian job alternatives to the shinobi lifestyle. There are also desk jobs, which you'd usually need a few more years of active service to get, although I'm sure you can–"

"Please get to the point."

My own voice sounds calm, controlled, perfectly unperturbed despite the news I am hearing. In truth, I feel almost detached from it all, as if I am watching someone else speak in my stead, and the man sitting before me seems nothing if not unnerved by this reaction. Or rather, lack thereof. Perhaps I'd already unnerved him with my strange mannerisms from the first time I'd stepped into this room.

He sucks in a deep breath.

"Your heart," he tells me. "Your heart muscles are… very weak. Delicate. Far more so than the average ninja. There's already been way too much of a strain placed on them from your back-to-back deployments in combat-heavy missions. Haven't you been feeling the symptoms already? Weakness in body strength, tendency for lightheadedness or headaches, poor stamina, shortness of breath. In your current condition, I wouldn't even put the occasional hallucinations past you as too far of a stretch, though you might've brushed that off as a different issue."

I make no reaction to these words. The man sighs tiredly.

"Your heart struggles enough to support your regular body functions, much less the strain as an active ninja," he explains. "At this rate, you'll burn out within the next three years. If you retire and adopt a completely civilian lifestyle… six years, I'd say. Most likely more, but I can't promise you that." He flips a page on his clipboard, putting down the pen at his side. "It's serious enough that you probably qualify for immediate termination of field service at this point, once I complete the report and if you turn in the application for it. Konoha's recently-updated wartime measures currently in effect should contain a clause for cases like yours."

He looks up, and there is something sympathetic, almost pitying in his eyes.

"Madoka-san… I'm sorry to break the news to you, but you won't be able to remain an active field ninja."

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Fifth chapter complete.

When Madoka takes soy sauce and pours it over raw squid –that's actually a legitimate dish, I believe. Go google _odori-don_ if you want to check that out. In context of daisies here: Of course, it's not exactly a dish that's popular in Konoha; in terms of culture, it's really something more of a country dish in small, exotic parts of the Mizu islands. Hi no Kuni is more inland, anyways, so even though they do eat seafood, seafood dishes aren't as popular or as varied as they are in the islands.

Poor Minato.

Again, if anyone seems OOC, please leave a note and I'll see what I can do about it.

If I remember correctly, people call all doctors 'sensei' in general. But if there's anything wrong with that, please let me know and I'll change the last section with the medic. I will be honest here and admit that I know next to nothing about actual medical disorders and such, so chakra/ninja might come into explanations a lot, even with research.

I've made a point of Konoha using all available manpower in earlier chapters and such, so it might seem strange that Madoka is being taken off the active roster like this. Right now, though, Konoha has an advantage in the war, since the tides have turned, so they can afford to ease up on some restrictions and regulations. Kannabi Bridge mission helped turn the tides in Konoha's favor, right? Although, if the situation worsens again, Madoka would be recalled into the field, regardless of her physical state.

Also, even though the reason for this story being bumped into M-rating in the future is a plot point that has yet to be revealed, just checking in here right now –do people agree with the **T-rating** so far, or do you think it should be bumped to **M** already?

* * *

 **QUESTION:** Any predictions for how the Rin-getting-kidnapped entanglement will work out? :3 That's coming up soon, if I've planned this correctly.

* * *

Leave a review, please! Reviews are encouragements for updating. :D Would greatly appreciate it if you took a moment to point out the errors you see in the text. Because there are always errors…

Till next time

XxZuiliu


	6. 06: water's edge

.

Title: daisies bloom over yonder meadow

Rating: **M.** Changed after posting of the previous chapter.

Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

(AN at the bottom.)

.

* * *

 **daisies bloom over yonder meadow**

 _06: "water's edge"_

* * *

.

Look up.

The sky is blue. Beautifully blue. There are a few streaks of thinning white clouds scattered across the broad expanse of breathtaking blue here and there, but look up, and the sky is just so overwhelmingly _blue,_ the sort of clear, deep azure that is both unimpressive and majestic at the same time.

Close your eyes. Feel the sun. Tilt back your head and bask in the warmth hitting your skin, listen to the wind. The silver-light whistle of the breeze is soft and playful, the very essence of the mirthful, joyous air. But once you open your eyes again, it is quick to disappear into nothingness, leaving behind only a faint echo of the brightest laughter in its wake.

Nothing has changed. It makes no difference; _absolutely nothing has changed._

(Obito is dead, I have received news of my own impending death, and still the world is bright and beautiful.

…

… What a lovely, lovely world.)

.

* * *

.

For all that the doctor had been all too eager to persuade and convince me to abandon the life of a ninja, I don't think he was particularly surprised upon hearing my refusal. Multiple times, over the next few check-ups. Disappointed, maybe, and more than a little pitying; clearly mournful for this little girl who clearly didn't know any better, to be so dismissive of her own _life_ like this–

Did you really expect me to make any other choice?

Even if Obito hadn't died… I don't think my decision would've been any different in this situation. Of course, I definitely would've taken appropriate measures to hide the news from him, but I don't think there would've been any way for me to peacefully retire.

Ojii-san made sure of that a long time ago.

.

* * *

.

 _For the clan, my dearest Madoka-chan._

.

* * *

.

(The clan.

To me, _the clan_ is just a concept. A faceless entity. Of course I am aware that I am born into a clan, that I am born into the Noble Uchiha Clan –but what does it _mean,_ to be part of a clan? What does it mean, aside from simply sharing the same blood in our veins? What does it _mean?_

… I only know ojii-san. Obito. Illusions and blood and demons lurking behind every corner; the soft, sweet kiss of insanity brushing against my lips feather-light and blood-bright.

But ojii-san loves the clan. _He loves the clan._

For the clan, _anything._

Anything and everything. He gave up his life for the clan, don't you know?

For the clan, and for his little granddaughter, a little girl twice over of his own blood. For his beloved little granddaughter.

A little girl, a monster of his own making.

Ojii-san is the one who makes me into a monster, through his love. Through love and through madness. Otou-sama, however, is the one who forges me into a _demon._ Not necessarily through all of the actions that he takes towards me, but you would know that well enough by now, wouldn't you?

Sometimes, _inaction_ is just as effective… if not more so.

… No, I don't blame him for this. For anything. Why do you ask?)

.

* * *

.

I believe that I've mentioned it before, at the very beginning before I started recounting all of this. _Tragedy,_ for us, began all the way back on a clear spring day when the ash-gray cherry blossoms had been in full bloom, petals fluttering softly in the trembling breeze.

Bright sun.

Thin clouds.

Children laughing.

 _Uchiha Obito meets Nohara Rin._

… It's not her fault. If I look at things objectively, critically –it's not her fault, _it's really not her fault_. How can I fault her for this? Nohara Rin is not to blame for factors beyond her control, and if I had been the one in her position, would I really have been able to do any better than she had, under those circumstances?

But even though it's not her fault – _she is the reason._

Nohara Rin.

She is the lynchpin.

.

* * *

.

It all starts when our squad leader –Yama-something or other; names of people like him tended to blur together for me, even back in those days– roughly skids to a stop, splattering mud everywhere with a heavy misstep. The unfortunate ninja running right behind him gets the full brunt of that… not that it makes much difference; after nearly a month spent out in the field and wilds, none of us were exactly in good condition.

Or very clean at all in the first place, for that matter.

"The hell?" mutters the shinobi directly behind our squad leader, disgruntled and vaguely irritated, though not offended. There was a friendly rapport amongst this squad; only four deaths in a ten-strong group during this time was a good standing record.

"Signal flare," the squad leader tilts his head. I look over in the direction he'd pointed out, squinting my eyes and vaguely making out the shape of colored smoke billowing up into the sky. Distress flare, a request for help from any nearby squads. "C'mon, let's go. Pick up the pace, men."

"Awww, do we have to?" Even though there is a clear note of complaint seeded in the voice of the ninja flanking the right of our formation, there is a startling lack of genuine intent to those words. It's more of a complaint spoken for the sake of complaining than for meaning to really accomplish anything through complaining. "We're already five days behind schedule for our check-in; what if someone back home already thinks we're dead?"

"Tough luck," there is no sympathy at all in Yama-something's response. "Chop, chop, Kuro. I'd suggest you think of it like this: The sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can return to Konoha."

"Yeah, well, that's what you said the _last two times_ you took us on a detour. Honestly, taicho–"

"Okay, if you _wanted_ to walk into an ambush, all you had to do was ask–"

" _Two times, taicho!"_

"… Those two never learn," huffs the man running along my right, shaking his head. But there is no denying the faint light of amusement in his eyes, nor the helpless way that the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in the faint echo of a smile. "How are you holding up over there, Uchiha-chan?"

(Figures. Even when they've seen you gut a man without batting an eye and pull out his intestines before proceeding to kick him in the balls, as long as you're short height-wise, people _still_ stick the diminutive, cutesy '-chan' suffix to you. I was beginning to think that I'd never outgrow that method of address…)

"Tired," I admit easily. My limbs were sore as always, more so after the stress and duress of a mission, but my chakra levels were decent at the moment. It would be enough to see me through another small skirmish before receiving treatment back in the village. Sensei was going to have a field day about 'staying within your limits' again. "Tired, but I'll manage."

… Curious little thing about having a tangible deadline for your death date –it does wonders in loosening up your mind, by making everything seem both more and less all at the same time. I still can't seem to form the attachments with others that come so easily to everyone else with enough time, but…

I don't think I mind it anymore, not anymore. What would even be the _point?_

"I think we're all pretty tired at this point," my fellow squad-mate chuckles good-naturedly. "But if I got into a tight spot of trouble on a mission and sent out distress flares, I know for a fact that I'd like to have some fellow Konoha-nin at my back even if they're a little tired, instead of, y'know, _skipping out on me because they want to go home."_

" _I heard that!"_

The man deliberately raises his voice without skipping a beat. "Does it look like I _care,_ Kuro?"

"Bastard," Kuro pouts, but there is a wicked light dancing in his eyes. "I'm demanding that you take us all out for drinks once we get back to the village."

"Eh?" the man gives a slow blink, and an even slower smile. "But drinks should be on the team leader, shouldn't it, _taicho?_ "

"Leave me out of this, Masao," comes the immediate response of Yama-taicho. "I've got enough trouble covering my rent each month and getting groceries on the table, much less going around satisfying the bottomless pits of your stomachs with booze."

"Aw, don't be so _stingy,_ taicho–"

"Trust me, your liver will thank me for this."

If Yama-taicho's voice was any dryer, he could've cut sandpaper. A few of the other men whistled, impressed.

"Hey, hey, it's all just a little celebration in good fun, isn't it?" Kuro cuts in, grinning. "Besides, we've got a little lady with us here –surely you don't mean to make a _lady_ pay for her drinks, so you?"

I blink in surprise at this point, giving a small start and nearly snapping a twig underfoot at the twist in conversation. "… You're actually including me in this?"

 _Why?_

I had always labored under the impression that going out for drinks after a mission was something men did either as a bonding experience not unlike dinners as a genin team, or simply as a celebration of a successful mission in good fun. Or… as a method of stress-relief to simply _forget,_ if it was a mission-gone-wrong.

"Well, why not?" Kuro turns to level a speculative look on me. "Old enough to kill, old enough to drink, I say. Although… we're probably going to have to start you off on the weak stuff. Just so you get used to it, y'know. Once you build up enough tolerance, though, we can get to the _really_ fun stuff like–"

"Kuro," the squad leader's flat voice is enough to make a desert wither and cry in shame. "You are _not_ going to use my wallet as an excuse to get Uchiha-chan drunk. Her clan is going to kill us."

"Hey, I'm just trying to get her to loosen up a little before she, y'know, follows the example of 90% of that clan and gets that giant stick stuck up her–"

" _Kuro!"_

"… Oh man, this is going to be a long trip," someone behind me not-so-quietly despairs, and I privately agree with his words. It's a particularly apt description of the ridiculous line of conversation.

.

* * *

.

But y'see, things have a funny way of going about –turns out that the trip hadn't taken quite so long after all. And if it had taken a bit longer, then maybe more of us would've survived the impending encounter.

.

* * *

.

" _Masao, Takeda, take the right! Uchiha, Kuro, you're on the left! Kobayashi, with me!"_

 _Melee. Well, that's nothing new,_ I think in the privacy of my own mind. Yama-taicho is quick to spot the flagging spots in the struggling Konoha team's ranks, and even quicker in barking out orders to the squad. Kuro has enough situational awareness to abandon all traces of banter and good cheer in his demeanor, body language shifting to something akin to a cross between _predator_ and _bloodlust,_ and I easily follow in his wake, blinking awake blood-red pinwheel eyes and watching the world around me become crystal clear.

It's a slaughter.

It's a slaughter… but one stacked against us.

Kiri-nin in Konoha territory. Who would've thought? What's more, though – _ANBU-level Kiri-nin_ in Konoha territory, for all intents in pursuit of a seemingly normal Konoha assault team?

 _We're way in over our heads,_ I muse, and promptly flatten against the ground in a sharp motion, all but throwing myself into the mud. Three shuriken whistle through the air where I stood mere moments ago, and I bite sharply into a soldier pill in my hand. There is a brief rush of chakra in my body, which helps –but not by much.

Which is just as well, seeing as I didn't exactly _mind_ this situation. Steel in hand, blood pounding in ears, eyes tracking movements and spinning illusions one after another after another over another–

 _I feel alive._

"Go! Don't mind us here!" shouts one of the shinobi from the original assault team. Jounin. Undoubtedly jounin. Fire from a B-rank jutsu tears through the open air in a roaring, crackling inferno; silhouetted by the fiery light, the man turns a fierce look back on us for only the briefest of moments. "Hatake-san needs all the help he can get! Remember, _don't_ let them take Rin-san; otherwise, they're going to–"

Flying.

Detached from the body, a flying head, trailing copious thick, uneven ribbons of blood. Eyes fierce, mouth open, throat gurgling with blood and choking on words that would stay forever silent on his tongue.

That, however, was not what my attention was focused on.

'Hatake-san?'

'Rin-san?'

 _Hatake and Nohara?_

…

It might be disloyalty, it might be betrayal. Construe it how you will. But in the instant that my mind truly _registered_ those names, when I spun around and scanned the entire field, when I _saw_ that undeniable shock of white hair and the tear-streaked face of the girl that Obito loved–

I dearly wanted to turn my back on them and pretend that my squad had never seen their signal flare for help.

… I am not ashamed to admit that. It's the truth. For all the lies and falsehoods that I am content to wrap myself in, I have never rejected the truth. And, had we not been stuck in the thick of battle and surrounded by Kiri-nin on all sides, I cannot say for certain… but there is a good chance I would've made a break for it if I could find the opportunity to.

Obito had died for them, Hatake and Nohara. And in my aimless pursuit of death, there were many things that I was willing to accept –being abandoned by my team, being betrayed by teammates, being gutted and skinned alive if I fell to the strength of a stronger shinobi. I could even accept dying _for the sake of Konoha._

But if there was one thing I couldn't accept at the time, it was dying for the sake of Hatake and Nohara, who had –in my mind– just as good as killed Obito themselves.

I _couldn't._

I couldn't bring myself to do that, and maybe it was just as well that I didn't.

"Uchiha-chan, the hell are you spacing out for? This isn't the time for one of your dizzy spells!" A sharp snap, right next to my ear. I blink, and suddenly there is an arm wound around my body –Kuro picks me up effortlessly with a single arm and _runs,_ and I, I am familiar enough with this maneuver to immediately fall back into our old patterns and weave illusions over our movements. Small, subtle, almost negligible in face of ANBU-level enemies, but it is enough to distort and modify their aim so that otherwise fatal attacks only come out as scrapes and near-misses against our bodies.

"My apologies," I mutter softly, catching the eye of one of the passing Kiri-nin and blinking. There is a noticeable drain on my chakra levels, but the man stumbles –and I reach out surreptitiously with my chakra to plant an insidious seed of madness inside his mind. "Where's taicho?"

"Dead." To his credit, Kuro's voice doesn't even waver in this response, despite the clear undercurrent of grief. I recognize the elementary technique for what it is, though. _Compartmentalizing._ He will grieve later, when the battle is done and over with and there is time to grieve… on the condition that he will still be alive to do so. "He and Kobayashi both. They went straight for Hatake –most of the firepower seems to be concentrated on that guy; taicho and Kobayashi got caught in the crossfire. Guess that means drinks are going to be on Masao, huh?"

I reach out and lightly smack his head, vaguely knowing enough of social conventions to be aware that there is a time and place for morbid jokes to be made, and that is not when most of your attention should be concentrated on skilled opponents both outnumbering and outclassing you. Keeping Kuro alive would be helpful for my own chances of survival; there was a _reason_ why our late taicho liked pairing the physically-unfit genjutsu genius with his taijutsu experts. Practical man, Yama-taicho.

Pity he was dead.

"Focus," is all I say. And then there's no time for anything else, because the flash of a katana nearly lopes off my head, and it is only a mix of flexibility on my part and Kuro's quick reflexes as an experienced close-combatant that keeps my head firmly where it is. In response, I coil a thread of my chakra over the steel blade, red eyes darkening to scarlet, and then the sword turns to ashes in the Kiri-nin's hand.

(Funny thing about genjutsu – _belief_ in the illusion is just as important as recognizing and acknowledging the deceitful nature of illusions at their very core. If you want an illusion to become real, then you must _believe_ that it is real, while at the same time never forgetting that it is fake.)

He knows it's an illusion, of course he does. The Kiri-nin's reactions are quick, barely pausing for even a single moment before promptly snapping out a coil of his own chakra with a harshly whispered _"Kai."_ But a pause is a pause, and there is never time for pauses on the battlefield.

(Also, Kuro is _good_ at taking advantage of distractions. Close to a jounin promotion, too.)

"Can you see them? The goddamn mist here is throwing me off. If we don't rendezvous with anyone, sooner or later we're going to be easy pickings."

"I'm not a Hyuuga," my voice is dry, but I obligingly focus on my meager chakra senses. With the oncoming roil of chakra-saturated mist settling hard and fast over the field, it's hard to make out anything at all –but genjutsu calls for fine control, and certain parts of these skills overlap with each other. "Left. We need to–"

" _You're done for, leaf."_

" _Give her back!"_

I frown.

… _Hatake._

Gone was the usual composure, the calm. There was something strangely… _raw,_ almost, in Hatake's voice. In the hoarse shout against the Kiri-nin's cold declaration, in the sharp edge of _desperation_ lining the almost frantic way that the prodigy lunged against impossible odds.

" _Don't! Kakashi-kun, don't! Please, you have to kill me!"_

Kiri-nin. He was up against a full squad of Kiri-nin, well-rested and well-equipped, and for all intents and purposes fully _prepared_ for this hunt, for this impending slaughter. For this slaughter that would reach its conclusion soon, when all Konoha-nin lay dead on the ground.

(Blood stains the muddy ground a deep, deep _red._ )

… But… but perhaps, perhaps there's nothing surprising about this scene at all. Nothing surprising at all about the way determination etches itself across Hatake's face, the way a dying man marches to his death with his head held high, rebelling against a world that despises him and wishes to crush him underfoot.

 _Obito was the first. You will be the second, Hatake._

 _Nohara Rin… why is it you?_

 _Why would they all die for you?_

"Holy shit," Kuro mutters, eyes wide, and we are reduced to nothing but silent spectators on the side in that moment. Lightning coalesces over the silver-haired prodigy's fingertips, coating his arm, sparks flying wide. The crackling sound is almost resembles the chirping of birds, inappropriate as the comparison is at this moment, because–

Because Nohara Rin breaks free.

Because Hatake's momentum carries him forward, propels him forward, and _he can't stop._

Because the girl whispers _Kill me, Kakashi,_ turning towards him with a smile on her face and arms held wide–

And something in me _snaps._

.

* * *

.

Please don't mistake me. At that time –it would not be wholly inaccurate to say that I despised Nohara. Even though I intellectually understood that Obito loved her, that she was a kind soul at heart, that it _wasn't her fault_ that she'd been thoroughly outclassed and captured twice by enemy ninjas–

There was nothing kind in my chest that I could muster up for Nohara.

…

… Yet, even so… at the exact moment I see her throw herself directly into the path of Hatake's jutsu, something in me. Just. _Snaps._

It takes less than a millisecond for me to ensnare the suicidal girl in a dizzying genjutsu that makes the whole world tip upside-down underneath her feet; she staggers, and that is enough for Hatake to forcibly _wrench_ himself away in the fraction of a moment, just enough to hit the Kiri-nin who was his original target instead of his teammate.

His _stupid_ teammate.

"What…?"

The _nerve_ of that girl, stumbling around with that blank, dazed look on her face, as if she did not understand what was happening. But her eyes widen in shock, and continue widening–

And I am not sure exactly _when_ I've walked across the last three corpses to meet her, only that something vicious and dark curls in the center of my chest when I march over and sharply slap her across the face.

The sound echoes across the clearing loud and clear.

"Are you an idiot, Nohara?" I hiss, and my voice comes out a mixture of resentment and incredulity and sheer infuriation. _"Obito died so you could live._ I don't care who kills you, but _you have no right to throw away your own life."_

 _You have no right to throw away the life that Obito traded his own for._

 _How dare you, Nohara?_

 _How dare you spit on Obito's death like this?_

… And that was the crux of my anger, wasn't it? I didn't care about Nohara. In some way, on some level, I even _hoped_ that she would die, this girl who was the cause of Obito's death. But… but I wanted her to die in fear, terror, despair; primal feelings that I'm sure that Obito himself felt in the scant moments before being crushed underneath falling boulders.

Not like this.

Not _deliberately throwing away her own life_ as if she was nothing but worthless, because even if she _was_ a worthless person that Obito fell in love with, that didn't mean her _life_ was worthless. The life that Obito had traded away everything for.

"You don't understand," the girl whispers, shock fading from her eyes and lips twisting into a bitter smile. There are tears on her face, from crying and laughing near-hysterically. She lets out a chuckle, a slight, crazed sound. Desperation. Fear. "You don't _understand,_ Madoka-chan… I… _I can't hold it back anymore."_

…

There is no warning.

 _There is no warning at all._

An explosion of chakra. An explosion of _pure chakra._ It is _power_ –pure and primal, released in a literal, honest-to-goodness _pillar_ as it detonates from her delicate, fragile body. Her delicate, fragile body, which is immediately torn to shreds in a shower of chakra-burnt flesh and scorching blood, splattering wetly across my face and–

" _Rin!"_ An arm around my waist, a heaving chest pressed against my back. Grief, desperation –both emotions ring loud and clear in Hatake Kakashi's voice, but he is the quickest to react in face of this sudden change, and pulls me away from the epicenter of the chakra explosion just in time before I, too, am engulfed in it just as Nohara is.

Just as Nohara had been.

… _How?_ There is a dull pounding echoing in my mind, and I cannot tear my eyes away from the macabre sight. Nohara's body literally being ripped to pieces, torn from inside-out to this overwhelming power. Chakra. _So much chakra._ How had her body even contained this before? How was it possible in the first place to hide something like this?

Chakra. Dense and wild and potent, so much that it's _choking._ Suffocating.

 _I can't breathe._

I can only watch, breathless and wide-eyed as the torrent of wildly fluctuating chakra finally, _finally_ begins stabilizing –massive and colossal as it is, towering above us all in an ever-thickening red-black haze–

It's impossible to make out the shape of the forming beast, from this range. But what's impossible to miss… are the three pillars of chakra sprouting from its back, in the place where Nohara Rin once stood.

.

* * *

.

 _Extra._

" _Wait for me."_

.

* * *

.

So –admittedly, he may not have been thinking all that clearly when he'd blindly shoved Baka-kashi out of the way after the cave started collapsing on them and that huge-ass boulder came down. In his defense, though, it's pretty hard to think clearly when there's a _cave_ collapsing in on you. And even if he did happen to be thinking clearly, with none of the adrenaline and blood pounding so hard in his veins that it almost seemed to drown out everything else–

Well, he'd probably go and do the same thing anyways.

Because Kakashi was his _teammate._ And there was no way that Obito would _ever_ just sit back and watch his teammate _die._ Nu-uh. That wasn't his style. Obito might be many things, but _heartless_ wasn't one of them.

In short, it was a no-brainer to leap in and shove the stupid idiot with obviously no self-preservation instincts _whatsoever_ out of the way, even though he… didn't exactly intend on getting crushed under the fuck-ton of solid _rock._

Oops.

It… hurt.

(And okay, _wow,_ understatement of the century there, clearly. Madoka would probably give him one of those blank, flat looks of hers if she ever heard that, before chaining him to the house for a week or something. Because, y'know, _clearly_ he couldn't take care of himself.

Not his fault, though!)

Obito didn't think he'd ever experienced as much pain as he did in the moment that the giant boulder completely _crushed_ the right side of his body. But he didn't regret it.

Really, he didn't.

In the scant few moments in the darkness right before he lost consciousness, though, after he could rest assured knowing that Rin and Kakashi were safe… if there was anything that Obito regretted, aside from being unable to become Hokage, it would be being unable to see his little cousin Madoka-chan one last time.

She was a sweet girl. Honest! … Well, if you got past the antisocial tendencies that could often put _Kakashi_ to shame on a good day, but, y'know. Details.

Madoka-chan was a lot like Kakashi, come to think of it. Both of them had trouble acting like normal people (although Madoka-chan was way sweeter and nicer than Baka-kashi!), and both of them were geniuses. If Madoka-chan hadn't been so short and thin, their clansmen would be worshipping _her_ instead of Shisui.

… Okay, okay, Shisui was a good kid, too. But cute little Madoka-chan was his favorite, hands down, so was it really any wonder that he was firmly on her side?

Not that Madoka-chan seemed to care about titles and prodigies very much, of course. But it was the principle of the matter here!

He… he might be a little oblivious at times, admittedly, but Obito isn't _stupid._ Although he doesn't know exactly how Madoka-chan grew up with her ojii-san, Kagari-sama, he knows enough to be able to tell that the old man is a large part of the reason why the girl is so painfully awkward and antisocial amongst, like… 99% of the population in Konoha. Which was just sad, really. He honestly, honestly hoped that she wouldn't take the news of his death too hard, because he _knew_ that she didn't get attached to people easily, but when she did…

… Obito had been the first one to find her after Kagari-sama died. It… wasn't a pretty sight.

(And that was putting it mildly, really.)

…

Obito closed his eyes with the full knowledge that he was dying, that he would be dead. Waking up again… was a bit of a surprise.

Also, _holy shit, Uchiha Madara-sama?!_

… A Uchiha Madara-sama who had gone insane, in his humble opinion. Really? Genjutsu-ing the entire world? Who _dreamed_ of things like that?

But regardless of his intentions, the old man had saved Obito's life, which meant that Obito _owed_ him. Didn't mean he was going to throw in his lot with world domination via eternal genjutsu over the entire world, but… he'd find some other way to pay him back. One day.

Right now, though, he had to focus on recovering. On regaining strength. To become strong enough to make the trip back to Konoha –man, everyone probably thought he was _dead_ already, which he _wasn't._ Although… come to think of it, the expressions on Rin and Kakashi's faces would be pretty hilarious to see, huh. Sensei would probably be poleaxed.

He'd count himself lucky if Madoka-chan didn't start breaking out the big guns for her genjutsu to punish an 'imposter.'

Nothing goes as planned, though.

" _Hey, hey!"_ One of the white creatures created from the creepy underground statue emerges from the walls, grinning down at him. _"Guess what I found? Your teammates, Kakashi and Rin –they're in trouble! Kiri ANBU in hot pursuit. Their squad is being picked off pretty fast; they're going to die at this rate."_

"WHAT?" Obito drops the kunai for 'rehabilitation' in his hands, nearly stabbing himself in the foot. Not that he would've noticed at this point. "Where the hell is Minato-sensei?"

The creature stares blankly at him. _"Who?"_

"Argh! I'm asking you, where is Konoha's Yellow Flash?!"

" _Oh. Him. Why didn't you say so from the start?"_ the white creature shrugs, before tilting his head as if listening to a voice from far away. _"… He's on a different mission. Solo mission, deep in Iwa."_

"Crap." He runs a hand through his hair roughly, frustration pounding in his chest. _"Crap._ How can I–"

" _Ooh, more news. You know that little cousin you mentioned before? Her squad leader is taking them on a route pre-tty close to where that skirmish is headed. If they send a signal, they're one of the closest teams who will see it…"_

Obito's mouth opens and closes wordlessly, before he settles on a simple summarization of the situation.

"… Well, shit."

There's no time. _There's no time._

" _We'll help you, Obito-kun. You're a good kid, y'know?"_

And before he knows it, he's racing through the forest, sprinting on aching legs, faster and faster and _faster_ until it's faster than he has ever gone before, until it feels like he's _flying–_

And still it's _not enough._

 _I need to hurry._

 _I need to get there faster._

 _Wait for me, guys… I'm definitely coming to protect you!_

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

And thus ends the sixth chapter. Rating of this story was officially changed to M sometime after posting the last chapter.

The extra with Obito's POV at the end there isn't part of the main daisies narrative, obviously. I felt like adding on a segment from Obito here would add some more perspective to things here, though, so voila. Hope it wasn't too OOC for Obito, haha. I attempted to use language that I felt was more Obito-esque, but if that didn't work out so well, let me know so I can attempt to fix things up a little.

So, anyways, here we go! I think I'm going to dub this the 'Rin Incident.' I read her page on the Naruto wiki, and it says there that she was actually captured on Madara's orders to have the Sanbi stuffed into her. In daisies' version of events, it's actually, legitimately Kiri that kidnapped Rin to make her a container for the Sanbi.

I considered cutting off the chapter where Madoka and Kuro find Kakashi in midst of the free for all, but it didn't seem quite right to stop things there, so the chapter is a little longer than usual this time… even though I still didn't finish writing the entire Rin incident. Obito is supposed to be at the scene, too, isn't he? He'll probably show up in the next chapter. Aside from the extra here, I mean. Obito's official entrance to daisies. :D

* * *

 **QUESTION:** Any new predictions for the way the Rin Incident will go, now that part of it is already up? I'm pretty darn sure there was no Sanbi outbreak in canon.

* * *

Leave a review, please! Reviews are motivation to update. Also, if you have any questions or concerns, please leave them below and I'll do my best to respond. Pointing out errors/mistakes in the text would also be appreciated. :3

Till next time

XxZuiliu


	7. 07: madly-blooming

.

Title: daisies bloom over yonder meadow

Rating: M.

Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

(AN at the bottom.)

.

* * *

 **daisies bloom over yonder meadow**

 _07: "madly-blooming"_

* * *

.

The existence of the bijuu is not a secret, not exactly. But even so… you have to understand.

Please understand.

You have to understand that, for most of us, in these times, bijuu were akin to _myths._ Myths and legends. Even jinchuuriki, the vessels, would be along the lines of what the average ninja expected to see on a mission gone horribly, horribly south, rather than something like a _bijuu._

 _Nohara Rin isn't a jinchuuriki, though, is she?_

… Not that it really matters anymore at this point, dwelling on that question. No point. No point at all.

" _Shit, it's too early,"_ one of the Kiri-nin hisses under his breath, and if there had not been a mask covering his face, surely there would've been a deep scowl curved over his lips for all the world to see. _"Should've known that she'd turn out to be a faulty, volatile vessel. Mizukage-sama will be most displeased."_

Though similarly shocked, the grim lines etched into the Kiri-nins' bodies show… preparation, of a sort. Preparation for a worst-case-scenario. So they had known something of this beforehand, in all likelihood.

That was only to be expected, given how hard they'd fought and bled for possession of the now-dead girl.

"Rin…" Ragged voice, harsh breathing. Something terribly pained chokes Hatake's throat, and he cannot tear his eyes away from the monstrous chakra construct that had forcibly torn free from Nohara's body, even as his body automatically moves in putting more distance between us and the detonation of raw chakra. _"Rin!"_

(… I don't understand. What does he think to gain by crying out the name of a dead girl? Her body literally _exploded_ from being unable to contain the demon within her body anymore. You can't get any more dead than that. Dead, dead, _dead._ )

Red-black chakra, a storm of chakra blazing bright and wild, somehow molded itself into the shaky outline of a beast. A monster. A monster with three long protrusions extending from its back, reaching high into the sky, blotting out the sun, roaring its challenge to the world in a wild scream that is rage and challenge and the unstoppable force of nature itself, demanding death.

Death and blood.

A bijuu.

 _Bijuu._

"Oh, fuck," Kuro mutters from somewhere to the side. There's somewhat of a light shake, slight tremble in his voice. "Fuck me sideways. I did _not_ sign up to stare down a fucking _bijuu._ Hatake-san, can you contact Namikaze-san?"

Hatake hesitates. "I already sent a signal. Sensei is hurrying, but right now he's–"

"No, wait, y'know what? I don't want to finish hearing the answer to that; at least let me hold on to a little bit of hope here, will ya?" Kuro laughs, and it's a borderline-hysterical sound. _"Shit._ We were even going to make it back alive this time…"

I can't really empathize with the older shinobi's turbulent feelings at the moment, but I can guess. If Obito was still alive, waiting for me back in Konoha, and I fell into this situation…

I'd probably die cursing Yama-taicho to the very end, full of regret and helplessness. But what can you do against a _bijuu?_ What can you possibly do to fight against a monstrous being of chakra acting with nothing but the singular intent of wreaking chaos and destruction?

What can you possibly do, caught in a situation like this?

How can you fight against a bijuu?

How can you possibly _resist?_

(How do you escape certain _death?_ )

.

* * *

.

…

"Listen well, Madoka-chan." Ojii-san's crimson pinwheel eyes gleam and spin smoothly, hypnotically under the low lamp-light in the darkness. He takes a gnarled hand and runs it gently through my hair, and I take comfort in the familiar gesture… but I know better than to indulge in it and close my eyes. My own eyes are wide open. "These eyes –remember them. Remember them well, my dear. It is through these very eyes that we release demons into this world."

"The demons of the mind, ojii-san?" I ask.

Ojii-san laughs. "Of course not, Madoka-chan. Haven't you been listening all this time? There are demons, and there are _demons._ The art of genjuutsu, if one truly devotes themselves to it –it is only inevitable that we invite demons to dwell within our minds. But that's not what I'm talking about here. It's about our eyes, Madoka-chan. Our _eyes."_

Red-and-black.

Blood-and-death.

"… What about our eyes, ojii-san?"

Ojii-san's lips curve into the bare ghost of a grin, a slow movement with a strange edge to it that I can't quite put my finger on, for all that ojii-san has taught me of reading the language of the human body. "Haven't you heard the rumors, Madoka-chan? There are some who call the Sharingan the eyes of the devil. Demon eyes."

Sharingan eyes. Devil eyes. Demon eyes.

"We are not infallible, unfortunately. These demon eyes –they make us strong, but also vulnerable in other ways. I will teach you to work around that, eventually. But before I teach you to protect your weaknesses, first I will teach you _strength."_ Ojii-san's eyes spin faster and faster, and I find myself falling headfirst into a world of darkness. His hands clasp my wrists tightly, red lines appearing under his fingertips, giving away to blood and bone.

"I will teach you strength, Madoka-chan." Ojii-san repeats. "You'll see, my dear. You will learn to control the power of these demon eyes. You haven't unlocked the full potential of these eyes, but one day, once you have, once that cousin of yours has served his purpose…

You'll see, Madoka-chan.

It won't be long before you'll realize that even demons of the real world cannot stand against the power of our demon eyes."

I blink and nod obediently.

"Yes, ojii-san."

…

.

* * *

.

(… Sometimes, I honestly wonder about my beloved ojii-san's teaching methods.

If ojii-san had truly known my mind as well as he thought he did, if ojii-san had truly been able to grasp my character in the palm of his hand, if ojii-san had truly succeeded in molding me into the perfect puppet to his will…

… Would he still have chosen to first show me the _power_ of these demon eyes, instead of the _weakness_ inherent in our cursed blood?

It's not entirely inaccurate to say that ojii-san had a large hand in raising and shaping the monster that would later grow to kill him. Oh, the irony.)

.

* * *

.

 _Ne, Madoka?_

 _Yes, Obito?_

… _Please don't die._

…

…

… _I don't plan on dying, Obito. But… but you definitely have to promise me that you'll stay alive, too. Future Hokage, right?_

 _Haha, you've got that right, Madoka-chan! No dying! It's a promise!_

… _Ah. It's a promise._

.

* * *

.

"Madoka-san?"

"Uchiha-chan, get your head out of the clouds already. _There's a bijuu in front of us._ How can you even act like everything is still normal?"

I shrug, a liquid, boneless movement that is entirely at odds with the trepidation rising in my chest. "… To be fair, Kuro-san, I'm not sure if panicking will help us. It's pretty much certain that we're going to die here. Like you said –there's a bijuu in front of us."

An earth-shattering roar. The three-tailed demon, its form finally stabilizing into the shaky silhouette of what appears to vaguely resemble a turtle, turns and sweeps its tails, and–

And it's a disaster.

The ground overturns, trees snapping like toothpicks, and, from the corner of my eye –the cliff face a good distance away _explodes_ into boulders and shrapnel, and it nearly starts a landslide. Dust and dirt and mud fills the air, making it difficult to see, to even _breathe_ –

All with a simple, effortless flick of its tails, and we are left scrambling for our lives.

(There is a _reason_ why bijuu are so feared, why jinchuuriki are such a dangerous force to be reckoned with. There is a reason. A very good reason.)

"Hey, Uchiha-chan," Kuro laughs, and it's a hopeless sound, full of despair and forced cheer. He sounds terrible. "Uchiha-chan, If I die here and, by some miracle, you manage to make it back to the village… bring a few bottles of old Adachi-san's _sake_ to my grave, would you?"

There is no time to respond. The beast roars again, a sound like thunder, and _belches_ what appears to be a crackling ball of mottled red-black chakra from its mouth, and–

And the result is nothing short of complete catastrophe.

Thankfully, the bijuu doesn't seem to differentiate between friend and foe. The target this time is the Kiri-nin scattered on the other side of the field, but Masao and Takeda, even being on the fringes of that group, had been caught in the monstrous attack this time.

Kuro makes a pained sound in his throat. Hatake tightens his grip on me and puts on an extra burst of speed, but I can already tell that it will be of no use. It's impossible to outrun a bijuu. Even though its attention seemed to be caught on the larger group of Kiri-nin, the closer prey –how long would they last?

It's a slaughter, a slaughter.

The Kiri-nin had wanted to slaughter both Konoha squads, and did indeed slaughter the majority of us. Now they were being slaughtered by the three-tailed demon, tossed around like rags, for all their skills. Karma at its finest, ironically enough. The slaughterers becoming the slaughtered in the blink of an eye.

And then once they were all dead, the same would happen to us. Slaughterers becoming the slaughtered. A cycle of blood and death come full circle, with all the demons and devilry of madly-blooming flowers rooted in the drunken waters–

Ah.

Ah, there are flowers blooming in my eyes.

The bijuu is bearing down on us now, rearing back for another of its chakra-blasts, and there are hundreds upon thousands of flowers blooming in my eyes. For all that the Sharingan casts the world into greater detail, never before had I experienced _clarity_ like this, as if I had been blind all my life and only _now_ found light amidst the darkness.

Ojii-san, this is ojii-san's doing, isn't it?

Right eye and left eye. One for ojii-san, and one for Obito. The drunken waters hidden behind my right eye stir restlessly, and the left eye follows–

 _Almost. Almost, but not quite. Not enough. I need a trigger. I'm broken, so far beyond broken, so broken that it's no longer what ojii-san expected nor what he had planned for –I need a trigger._

"Madoka-san, are you alright?" Voice tight, sharp lines of concern harshly underscore Hatake's voice clearly as he addresses me. "Can you hear me? We–"

And then the demon is upon us.

.

* * *

.

" _It won't be long before you'll realize that even demons of the real world cannot stand against the power of our demon eyes."_

" _Yes, ojii-san."_

.

* * *

.

Its appearance takes us all by surprise, the black-cloaked figure with a strange white substance covering its face and head, armor upon its body. Perhaps if I'd been in any position to _notice,_ to observe and catch the familiar, _familiar_ movements of his body, I would've been able to identify him immediately. Perhaps if Hatake had been able to split part of his full attention away from the rampaging bijuu and truly look and _see,_ he would've been able to recognize him in an instant.

As it was, though, none of us had known that the black-cloaked ally charging out from nowhere was Uchiha Obito. Not until he turned and _spoke,_ after summoning tall spires of _wood_ from the ground to bind the roaring bijuu –fully _binding_ it, even though the cracks that immediately appeared in the wood pointed towards a temporary binding.

"Get yourself together, Baka-kashi!" he roars.

That voice.

That _voice._

 _I know that voice._

"… Obito?" I whisper tremulously, and despite the imminent danger upon us all, the burning flowers blooming in my eyes, something in me just… freezes, in that moment, when I am confronted with _that_ possibility; a possibility I dared not attempt to convince myself was true, for fear of madness.

 _Obito, Obito,_ Obito.

Is this just another illusion? Dare I bring myself to hope again?

(Hope springs eternal.)

The dumbstruck look that flashes across Hatake's face nearly causes him to be crushed underfoot by the three-tailed demon. There is another titanic bellowing from the Sanbi, a low rumble that is equal parts blatant threat and blind rage, before it lashes out again, and–

"Sorry, Madoka-chan." It's him, it's him, _it's him._ The white substance wrapping around his face falls away, revealing his face –and it _hurts so much,_ to see him like this. He's pale. Weak. But still he stands here, strong and tall, despite the severe scarring of the right side of his face, no doubt running down along the entire right side of his body. Missing an eye. But the remaining one –crimson-gleaming and Sharingan-bright– _shines._

It _shines,_ and it's beautiful.

"You're dead," I tell him, and am stricken by the sudden urge to cry, inappropriate as it is for the moment, when the imminent presence of a bijuu threatens to kill us all. _"You're dead."_

He winces. "Yeah, about that…"

"Oi, oi, I get that you all know each other and are glad to have this happy reunion, but _chat later, fight the fucking three-tails now!"_

I could've spun and _ripped off_ Kuro's head from his shoulders for that interruption. As it was, though…

… he did have a certain point to his words. But there was no use in trying to crush the giddiness rising in my chest, even despite the drunken blood-flowers blooming in my eyes.

"Are you okay, Madoka-chan?" Obito frowns, eyebrows furrowing in concern. It's him, it's him, _it's him._ There's no way I can mistake this person for anyone else. _It's him._ Obito is _alive._ "Your eyes look a little… weird. Did you get hurt earlier? Stupid Baka-kashi. Stay back with the chuunin and support us however you can, okay? Kakashi and I will take this."

"But it's a bijuu!"

Obito flashes a crooked smile at me. "Yeah, I know that. Don't worry, I've gotten a lot stronger than the clumsy cousin you remember."

"You can't–" My fingers reach forward and firmly wrap around his cloak. Underneath, the white substance covering his body coils and moves restlessly. "No. You can't do this, Obito, you can't–"

His eyes soften, and he leans forward to hold me against his chest in a crushing hug.

"This thing killed Rin. Do you really think I can let it get off so easily?" he whispers. "Don't you worry, though, Madoka-chan. I won't die."

And then he's gone.

.

* * *

.

I don't remember how it happens, exactly.

Kuro standing by my side, providing ranged support however he can. I use the last of my explosive tags. Hatake and Obito – _Obito_ – work in tandem, attacking the three-tailed demon head-on fearlessly, and maybe part of their movements is tinged with as much rage as desperation. Rage for causing the death of a beloved teammate, desperation to defeat this insurmountable obstacle to return home together, _alive._

You're curious about it, I know. I'll tell you, no more secrets, no more games. This is when it happens:

Lightning crackling through the air. Hatake drawing on the last dregs of his flagging strength, hurling lightning down at the unstoppable beast, and falling to the ground. Wood breaks out from the surface of the overturned earth, and pierces into the body of the mad bijuu, drawing another enraged roar as it _thrashes–_

And its tail.

Directly in its path, stumbling.

 _Obito._

It all happens in the blink of an eye:

The budding scarlet-flowers wildly twisting and writhing in madness behind my eyes are brought forth, withering and falling apart into a lake of blood. Drunken blood, dreams and illusions and anything but reality, forged from truth. The drunken waters twist and writhe and are no longer content to remain still, instead turning turbulent tidal waves beneath my demon eyes–

It _blooms._

Water. Red water. Crimson water. Liquid-thin, but razor-sharp. It appears out of nowhere (it appears from the madness of my demon eyes, from ojii-san and from Obito) and _lunges,_ an extension of my own will –and like a waterfall, the scarlet liquid falls down over Obito, encasing him completely.

The bijuu's tail strikes.

" _Obito!"_ Hatake shouts, voice twisted by terror–

The bijuu's tail strikes, and _rebounds._ The demon gives a mighty roar, _stumbling back,_ and–

And then the waters part in a cascade of flower petals drifting in a non-existent wind, swirling in a vermillion storm before racing towards the three-tailed demon and converging upon it, slicing and _cutting_ and–

It's a little useless, maybe. This power hidden behind my demon eyes. For all that it is swift and merciless in cutting into to real demon's body, the Sanbi's regenerative power means that none of it does any lasting damage.

Physically, that is.

Twist and push. Turn and pull.

 _Madness, madness, the madness of the human mind. What can surpass the madness of the human mind? We invite demons to dwell within our minds, Madoka-chan. Demons and devils, far more terrible than the demons of this world._

With each cut, a small shard. A fracture. A _weakness,_ not one that is healed upon the physical body, but a gaping wound that is more spirit than physical.

 _You will not harm us,_ I whisper insidiously into the fractures, with every new cut, with every new minuscule openings to the demon's overwhelming current of _anger hurt rage kill all humans_ against the forefront of its consciousness _._ _You will not harm us. You will step back, and you will not raise your power against us._

 _Relinquish control._

 _Lower your head._

 _You will not harm us._

The demon stumbles, roaring harsh and loud into the sky, _stepping back_ –but then the pre-existing current of _kill all humans_ comes back with a vengeance, and the red flower-river of my demon eyes is driven back in a wild burst of pure chaotic energy, chakra that contains _bloodlust and hatred and–_

"Shit," Kuro mutters. _"Shit._ We're all gonna die now, aren't we?"

…

…

…

And, as if in response to those very words, there is a sudden flash of blinding yellow envelops the entire field.

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Wasn't sure if I'd finish this today, but we're finally done with the seventh chapter now. :D

Obito enters! And has his own badass moment with using wood jutsu, kind of, except Madoka is a little out of it at the moment to properly appreciate the epic-ness of it all. Minato has the most epic entry at the end of the chapter, though. :) … I feel like I glossed over a lot of details of the actual fight itself, but at least we managed to get the important things down here. And besides, there wasn't much beyond the description of the fighting other than extending 'the Sanbi pwns everyone.'

How many people guessed that Madoka had the Mangekyo? One reviewer mentioned it in the last chapter, but I'm a little curious to see if other people caught the (not-so-subtle) hints as well. And I'm operating on the assumption that the Uchiha in question needs to experience the emotion and trauma of having lost a loved one in order to awaken the Mangekyo, not that they actually need to kill the loved one in question for the Mangekyo eyes.

That might open the arguments for 'but _plenty_ of Uchiha have lost loved ones before; why don't they all have the Mangekyo, if that's the case?' I'm going to put it down partially to emotional conditioning, and partially because of the ninja themselves. As shinobi, they're definitely going to be facing a rocky road in their life, containing lots of loss –and there is emotional conditioning to a degree in their training and also psych evals to help them keep a 'healthy' mental balance, and stop from breaking down after experiencing a major loss.

Regarding the ninja themselves –different people are going to have different reactions. Some might be able to control their grief and mourn properly after receiving news of the death of a loved one, but others might break down on the spot, depending on how much they feel, if the strength of the relationship is the same. For some, it's enough to awaken the Mangekyo, but for others, it's something they have to witness in person with their own two eyes, maybe even commit the murder with their own two hands.

For twisted Uchihas who are apathetic and incapable of feeling such emotions –tough luck gaining the Mangekyo, my friend. And let's just say that there is a _reason_ why ojii-san only openly expressed his disapproval of Obito once before going and allowing Madoka to grow attached to her cousin. ;3 That plan didn't exactly work out according to his plans, though.

Also: Madoka calls the Mangekyo 'demon eyes' because that's what ojii-san 'introduced' it as. And because she doesn't even know that there's a proper name for these 'demon eyes.'

* * *

 **QUESTION:** Any guesses for what potential repercussions of the Rin Incident might be?

* * *

 ** _New story posted earlier today!_** Naruto fic. Title is 'as the wild current sings, clarity over skies.'

 _For anyone who's interested:_ The story features an OC who finds herself in a Spirit!AU version of the Naruto-verse, as the minor kami of a small river after a traffic accident. It will most likely be containing a lot of folklore and myths, which should be pretty interesting –and require a lot of research too, probably. ;3

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


	8. 08: ashes

.

Title: daisies bloom over yonder meadow

Rating: M.

Summary: "Demons aren't born, otou-sama. They're made." (And from the murky depths of your darkest mistakes, your deepest regrets and your own pitiful worthlessness, I draw my first breath.) [SI/OC, Uchiha!OC, Third War, AU]

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

(AN at the bottom.)

.

* * *

 **daisies bloom over yonder meadow**

 _08: "ashes"_

* * *

.

Namikaze Minato takes one look at the bloody carnage and promptly dives into the pressing task of subduing said bijuu without a single stray word. In a way, I'm grateful for that, for his near-instant understanding of the overwhelming urgency for _fight now_ and _talk later_ in the necessity of the moment. It's not protocol, but there simply isn't any _time_ to be following protocol right now.

(Not to mention, the entire sight here is rather self-explanatory anyways, given the rampaging bijuu and devastated wasteland of a terrain that we're somehow still standing on. Miraculously.)

… Fuuinjutsu is a rather curious art. Up until this point, my only exposure to the sealing arts was in the typical stock of standardized explosion tags and storage scrolls that were issued as part of the essential shinobi gear. Namikaze is both well-known and highly-regarded as a fuuinjutsu master, but it's one thing to _know_ that in an intellectual sense… and another thing entirely to actually step back and _see_ it for yourself with your own two eyes.

The monstrous bijuu roars, and stomps its feet downwards at this newest threat. But instead of provoking another mad chakra-enhanced scramble backwards, there is only a flash of yellow, and suddenly Namikaze is flying through the air once more, handseals flashing as he readies another technique. Some sort of jutsu glows, flickers on his hand, and is roughly slammed into the bijuu's face at point-blank range, enraging the bellowing monster even further –but Namikaze is already moving again, before it can even stop to focus on him.

 _Fast._

Indeed, there is no doubt that Namikaze is fast, if not the _fastest._ After all, one doesn't get much faster than instantaneous travel.

" _Oh my god,"_ Kuro whispers from somewhere off to the side, body sagging and almost _crumpling_ to the muddy ground altogether –part of me wants to reprimand him for that, because even though Namikaze is fielding the brunt of things now, it doesn't change the fact that _there's still a battle going on,_ and this is still nowhere _near_ time to be relaxing yet. But on the other hand… I can understand his relief somewhat, I suppose.

Not relief for _myself,_ though, not relief at scraping by with the remains of my tattered life intact–

Relief.

For _Obito._

Obito, who… who wasn't dead. _Obito wasn't dead._ There was a corner of my mind still spinning with something dizzy at the thought, soft and lightheaded. Obito. Not dead. He wasn't dead, he was _alive,_ my beloved cousin was _alive,_ and with Namikaze holding down the battle front, it was unlikely that the jounin would allow Obito to be lost to us again. Hatake, Nohara, and I –we were not the only ones to be affected by Obito's… absence.

 _Obito._

Pale. _Far too pale._ There was an unhealthy pallor to what little showed of my cousin's skin from beneath that cloak and mask –just what had he been doing all these months, _where_ had he been, did he even know how to take care of himself without me there?– but even with the exhaustion and injuries written into his thin frame, etched so heavily into his flesh, things were fine. Things were fine, because he was still _alive._

I wondered vaguely in a distant corner of my mind if it said something about my still-beating heart that even now I felt no regret or remorse for the way I had treated Nohara Rin in light of Obito's not-death.

(Or perhaps, my lack thereof.)

It's sudden, when it happens. One moment I still have my eye on the battle, watching and assessing to see if there is anything at all that I can do now that the Yellow Flash is going _toe to toe_ with a _bijuu,_ with Hatake and Obito running interference in tandem beside him as they turn to support roles for their sensei. One moment I am still focused on the battle, tense and ready to make another move at any moment–

And the next, _nothing._

Nothing.

In the next moment, all I know is darkness.

.

* * *

.

 _("Madoka-chan? Madoka-chan, talk to me! Madoka-chan!"_

"… _Obito. She's–"_

" _No, no, NO! Not again, not like Rin-chan, I can't– Not Madoka-chan, too, please–"_

" _Calm down, Obito. Right now, it seems like she's only unconscious. If we get her to the hospital, she should be fine.")_

.

* * *

.

"We've really got to stop meeting up like this, Madoka-san."

I do not respond to the errant comment. The medic sighs, a tired, exasperated sound that borders on the edge of disappointment.

"Madoka-san… you _do_ recall what I've told you about over-exerting yourself, right?"

Yes, of course I remember. I have a good memory, and even better recall. 'Do not over-exert yourself,' or something along those lines.

The man pinches the bridge of his nose. "If Namikaze-san and his team didn't bring you in when they did… I'm not sure if there's anything I could've done for you. Tsunade-sensei has her hands _full,_ and you're damn _lucky_ Orochimaru-sensei is in the village right now, and was able to lend a hand when Namikaze-san asked."

I nod complacently at his words. The medic makes a frustrated sound.

"Do you have _any idea_ how close you came to dying?"

At the time? No. At the time, I hadn't realized how weak my body had been, how low my chakra levels, how frail my heart. I was certainly feeling it now, the heaviness in my limbs and the soreness in my bones, the feeling of being so _empty,_ with nothing but my own weakness as company. But at the time, I had been completely caught up in the danger of the moment, mixed by sheer _relief_ that Obito was alive, _alive–_

 _Obito._

"Where's Obito?" I ask, and the medic nearly blows a gasket.

"You almost _died,_ Madoka-san! Because you pushed your body _far_ past how much it can withstand and because you nearly _depleted_ your chakra stores! If you're just going to ignore everything I have to say, then you might as well save us all the trouble and stop showing up here in the first place!"

"Ah, alright." This, I understand. It's a clear dismissal, isn't it? Right now it's a struggle and a half to make my weak, injured body to obey, but nonetheless I begin going through the routine motions of pulling out needles and getting up from the bed. "Thank you for your efforts, sensei. Please excuse me, I will be–"

The medic sighs explosively, slamming his head against his clipboard for a moment before tossing it aside, striding over in long steps and _shoving_ me back down into the bed in a… surprisingly gentle motion, considering his strange demeanor. Under his breath, the man is muttering something about incompetent, socially-retarded children. I am peripherally aware at the moment that this is some sort of insult towards me, but I cannot care less about what he thinks. I cannot find it in myself to care about any of his words, not when _Obito, I need to see Obito, Obito is alive–_

"Madoka-san, we did _not_ invest all that effort into saving you just so you can go ahead and undo all our hard work," he states flatly. "I am also obliged to inform you that, as the highest-ranked ninja of the mission you just returned from, Namikaze-san currently has access to the your injuries report. Hopefully, he'll be able to finally knock some sense into you. I assure you, he was _not_ amused when I gave him your medical history."

Namikaze? Medical history?

… Oh.

I tilt my head. " Isn't that a breach of privacy?"

"Extenuating circumstances, Madoka-chan," a new voice interrupts from the doorway, and I look up to see the wan face of Namikaze Minato, who looks… surprisingly well and whole, considering that he had faced down a _bijuu,_ nearly entirely on his own. Frightening man, this Namikaze Minato. There is something that looks to be a mixture of concern and regret in his eyes as he looks at me. "You _collapsed_ for what appeared to be no reason at the time, and we weren't sure if you would make it even after we made it back to Konoha –it was necessary to pull out your full file for treatment so we could figure out what was going on. On another note, Obito will be glad to hear that you're alright now."

 _Obito._

"How's Obito?"

The somber expression on Namikaze's face breaks into a brief smile. "He's alright. He's currently under Tsunade-san's care –there's a bit of strange healing on his body, and we're trying to make sure that there won't be any negative repercussions. Kakashi was discharged a few days ago. Your teammate Kuro is fine, too."

 _Obito is fine._

Obito is fine. Alive and well, _fine._ My shoulders slump, tension seeping away from my thin frame, and my lips form my next question. "May I see him?"

"Not yet, but I'll see if I can't convince Tsunade-san to let go of him long enough for him to drop by for a visit," Namikaze promises. "You really shouldn't be moving around all that much at the moment, and it'll probably take another week before you're well enough to be discharged from the hospital."

"Ah, I see."

For a moment, silence descends upon us. The medic standing to the side breaks it with a pointed cough, and Namikaze sighs, grimacing as he moves to enter the room.

"… Madoka-chan, _when_ were you planning to tell us about your heart condition? Obito-kun doesn't know about it, does he?"

Is that concern I hear in his voice? Strange. I am not his student; now that Obito is _alive,_ why would he continue to feel any obligation towards me? He is not responsible for my wellbeing.

"Never," I reply honestly, because the weakness of my own body, it's –it's none of their concern. Obito would be concerned, definitely, but… I couldn't let him know, either. Obito would be sad if I died, and I would do anything to see Obito smile. So, I couldn't let Obito know about this. I _wouldn't._ "… And no. He doesn't. I was diagnosed after he… during his absence."

I pretend not to see the blond jounin wince. What had the medic's predictions been again? Three years?

"… Madoka-chan, I think Obito might've understated your stubbornness a little bit too much to us. I'm sorry, I… I really should've caught this sooner."

"'A little,' he says," the medic grumbles under his breath from somewhere off to the side, before raising his voice. "Namikaze-san, it's good that you're stepping in now, at least. Have you already filled out the paperwork?"

"Yes, Ren-sensei," Namikaze responds, handing over several sheets of paper to him. "It's done. It took me awhile to find Orochimaru-san again and inform him of the situation, but thankfully he was willing to help us out on this. Fugaku-san was a little harder to find and convince, but we managed to work things out… mostly."

I frown. "Namikaze-san?"

"Madoka-chan," the jounin turns back towards me. "As of this moment, you have been officially removed from the active duty roster. Both for health concerns to your person and for further research into the technique you used to momentarily… _stall_ the Sanbi, you have been reassigned under Orochimaru-san for the time being."

.

* * *

.

(It's not exactly new, seeing people go over my head to make _plans_ and _decisions_ for me because I cannot be trusted to know what to do with myself.

For example: All Uchiha shinobi must be strong enough to bring pride to the Uchiha name, and so my dearest ojii-san took it upon himself to raise me from birth with demons living in my mind. All Uchiha shinobi must be unwaveringly loyal, and so my dearest ojii-san always whispered to me _For the Clan, Madoka-chan. For the Clan._

… Yet for all his cunning and his planning, his fears still came to pass; my strength was neither that of a full-fledged Uchiha shinobi who breathed fire and danced as fast as the wind, nor was I staunchly loyal to the clan name. My only skill in the ninja arts was in genjutsu, and my only loyalty I gave to Obito.

" _Madoka-chan, I've failed. You are not what I hoped you would be, what I wished you could become, what you need to be… I'm sorry, child."_

" _I forgive you, ojii-san."_

What Namikaze Minato did… isn't all that different, in comparison. Ninjas who are injured need proper rest and recuperation if they are to fight at full strength again, and so Namikaze went and _ensured_ I would remain within the village instead of going back to taking missions for the war. Ninjas who manifest new abilities in the heat of battle that would potentially be a significant game-changer needed to be taught and watched, so the village would gain another useful weapon in its impressive arsenal.

Oh, I don't doubt his motives. I have no doubt that Namikaze Minato was truly concerned for the suicidal little cousin of his genin student, and wanted to make sure she would be alright, if only for Obito's sake. That he _cared_ for her health and wellbeing.

Ojii-san loved his little granddaughter, too, back before I killed him. Who knows? Maybe he still loves me even now. A beautiful love born of the loyalty to blood, a love that burns bright and fierce enough to transcend both life and death.

Ahahaha.

…

Namikaze… is a charismatic person, honest and genuine in a way that few ninjas manage to remain throughout their career. I don't doubt him, I don't doubt that he wanted the best for little Madoka-chan, who was unfortunate enough to be struck with a debilitating defect on her body but fortunate enough to manifest an ability that would spur the village into having a vested interest in her health for the power of her demon eyes. I don't think that Namikaze Minato did any of this in a gesture of ill will.

Just… I don't think he'd ever expected the results of what he set into motion here, arranging for his not-dead student's favorite cousin to be placed under the tender care of his sensei's best friend. I can't imagine someone like Namikaze going through with decision, if he'd known what would happen.

But that's okay. When all is said and done, I am nothing but grateful to him for it.

Thank him for me sometime, okay?)

.

* * *

.

Orochimaru is… intimidating, in a manner of speaking. People bow their heads and scuttle out of his path as he approaches, and it is second nature at this point for me to take one look at their behavior and categorize this reaction as nervousness, apprehension, _fear._

The Snake Sannin is a genius, a deadly shinobi both on the battlefield and off, and his enemies are not the only ones who fear him. Rightly so, I'd imagine.

"Orochimaru-sensei, this is Uchiha Madoka," the medic introduces. "Madoka-san, Orochimaru-sensei."

Tall, thin, pale. The hints of purple around his eyes –clan markings?– give him an aura akin to that of a venomous serpent, and I have no doubt that he himself far more deadly than what his appearance implies. I would be a fool not to. Orochimaru is one of the Densetsu no Sannin for a _reason._

I fold my hands over my lap and sketch a polite, respectful bow as best as I can from the hospital bed.

"I will be in your care, Orochimaru-sensei," I say to him. The Snake Sannin inclines his head and does not give me an audible verbal response, but his half-lidded eyes as he looks at me are unusually sharp.

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('Is this why,' you ask?

…

Well… in a way, _yes._ In a way, _yes,_ this is _precisely_ how I begin taking the first steps on this one-way path to what I have now become. Don't look at me like that, I don't regret it. I'll never regret it. Truly, there is a lot that I owe to Orochimaru-sensei; if he were ever to make a request of me, I do not think I would be able to refuse him anything he asks for.

 _Unless he requests my eyes, of course._

… Hahaha. Why do you look so surprised? Cheer up, now. It's just a little joke.)

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Author's Notes:

Eighth chapter finally complete here. Sorry for the delay in updating. It's been… what, nearly a year since the last update? More than a year since _daisies_ was first posted? We're basically (nearly) halfway through the storyline of _daisies_ at this point, so now the goal will be to finish _daisies_ sometime before the end of this year, at least. Hopefully. We'll see how long the plot bunnies stick around.

… _daisies_ is supposed to be a short fic. Relatively short, at any rate.

So, Obito is finally back in the village now! But Rin is dead. Repercussions of that and the effect it has on Madoka's relationship with Obito will definitely be felt. We also have Madoka here who is now officially benched from active service and placed under Orochimaru's tender care –Orochimaru, who's still a Konoha shinobi at this point. Should be interesting, no? Next update is planned to feature snippets of Madoka's experiences with Orochimaru, Obito, and the Uchiha Clan. Not necessarily in that order, though. ;3

 _Why is Madoka being placed with Orochimaru and not Tsunade?_ 1) Tsunade is busy. She already has her hands full running the hospital as the Head Medic, and also Zetsu-parts grafted onto Obito's body to investigate as well. 2) Orochimaru, for all that he is more known for _research_ than healing, is skilled enough in medical jutsu that it seems there should be no trouble with tasking him to find a cure for the heart condition Madoka suffers from. Given that Madoka's Mangekyo hinted at the ability to influence/potentially control the bijuu, it only makes sense that Konoha would want to investigate the technique –and in order to investigate it, Madoka needs to be kept alive. Orochimaru is in charge of leading this research, hence why Minato says that Madoka is "reassigned under Orochimaru," but the Uchiha Clan actually gets a say in how this research goes as well, given that it's their bloodline ability in question here. Ordinarily, the village would never have been able to pull aside an invasive research like this, but: A) Wartime measures, B) Influencing bijuu = too tempting to resist, C) Deteriorating relations with the Uchiha Clan anyways.

… You can tell from this giant block of text that I wanted to explain this somewhere in this chapter, but didn't really manage to find a good spot to do it. Some of it will probably be touched on later on; I don't want anyone jumping down my throat about any spotty points in the fic quite just yet.

Note: Hasn't been shown from Madoka's POV so far, but Konoha is _not_ in possession of the Sanbi. However, the fact that Minato was able to deal with a rampaging bijuu ticks another point in favor towards him for the Hokage seat. Kushina should be making an appearance soon, too, I think? Maybe. We'll see how it goes.

Other updates: _wild current_ has been updated! OC, spirit!AU of the Naruto-verse. Check it out if you're interested? :D No update for _nine point eight_ (SI/OC-as-Uchiha Izumi) this week due to a busy schedule, sorry, but I'll try to get something done for that by next week.

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 **QUESTION:** What are the predictions for future interactions with Orochimaru? :D

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Till next time,

XxZuiliu


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